entropy, interrupted
by rainbow-beaniegirl
Summary: After nearly a year in prison, mulling over her mistakes and growing bitter, a secret project is begun and Cat Adams is given an opportunity she could only have dreamt of. (Starts after the Season 12 finale. Spoilers ahead.) UNDER PLOT CONSTRUCTION - DEAR READERS, MINOR DETAILS ARE BEING CHANGED. ONCE CHAPTERS ARE REPUBLISHED, PLEASE RE-READ IF YOU WANT.
1. The Request

Chapter One: The Request

Genius is a relative term. Relative to the rest of the world, Spencer Reid was a genius. Relative to Cat Adams, he was a child.

Well… that's what Cat Adams had convinced herself.

To spend every waking (and sleeping) hour cramped up in her small solitary confinement cell was worse than hell for her – but her overly imaginative mind could transport her body to fanciful places with all the people and things that Spencer Reid had made sure she would never see again.

That stupid, _stupid_ man.

 _"He's obviously not that stupid since he managed to trick you."_ A voice in the back of her head would remind her. She hated that voice.

Her failed escapade in Mexico had occupied her mind for so long, and now that it was over, she felt empty inside. She felt bored – and when a psychopath is bored, bad things happen.

Or so she told herself. She liked thinking she was dangerous – capable of anything, not restricted by iron bars.

Nevertheless, the truth was that Cat Adams was trapped. Her claws had been clipped and her masterful mind numbed by the monotony of solitary confinement. Even when her child was taken from her to be put in the foster care system, she had felt a pang of regret. Boredom had coaxed out a practically non-existent material instinct. She was never going to see that baby again.

Her favorite place to go in her mind was a grand room, ornate and almost obnoxious with its décor. That _stupid_ man was there.

Then, it all changed.

* * *

"What do you mean I have a visitor?" Cat growled, shielding her eyes from the light that flooded into her cell from the open door.

"I mean exactly what I said," the gruff older man snapped handcuffs on and led her out.

Cat's heart beat fast, a maniacal spark lit in her eyes. Finally, something to do.

Her thin frame and sallow skin seemed almost pitiful in the unforgiving lighting of the interrogation room. She waved at the one-sided mirror, her mind sorting through all the people who could possibly be behind it. Silently she hoped, but she didn't believe the BAU would be that stupid.

The door opened and Agent Prentiss entered. Cat raised her eyebrows and looked at the table.

"Cat Adams," Prentiss seated herself across from the inmate, "I am here on behalf of the United States Government."

Cat's eyes snapped up rapidly.

"What?" She hissed.

"The United States Government would like to present you an offer."

Cat leaned in across the table, her face nearly touching the face of the FBI Agent. She searched for fear, intimidation, weakness, anger, _anything_ in her eyes. All she found was determination. She leaned back and crossed her arms, staring at the singular light bulb on the ceiling, which cast its gloomy illumination on the grey room around them.

"No."

"Miss Adams let me assure you that you are in no position to refuse this offer."

"I want to talk to him," Cat realized she sounded like a child crying for their dolly, a momentary break of character had given way for a sentence she had not planned to speak. She had just handed them a shiny Reid-shaped bargaining chip.

But then again, if he ended up being the bargaining chip, she didn't really mind.

Prentiss sighed, staring at the woman in front of her. She knew she couldn't let the NSA negotiate with this woman by themselves, that's why she was here. However, Reid – he didn't even know this was happening. After Mexico and prison, she doubted he could handle anything more. Yet, the NSA wasn't going to stop, and Cat wouldn't talk to anyone else. After all, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Slowly she stood up; this seemed to satisfy Cat immensely. Undoubtedly, she expected Reid to walk in immediately.

"Have a good day, Miss Adams."


	2. The Answer

Chapter Two: The Answer

"Are you serious?"

When Prentiss exited the room, a furious Agent Carton approached her.

"I busted my ass trying to convince the NSA you were their best bet and you can't even get to the offer?"

"Trust me Carton," Prentiss rolled her eyes, "NSA agent's wouldn't have gotten this far. She was intrigued and let me talk because she knew who I was. And now she's given us a hand to play."

"Yeah, sure," Carton crossed his arms, "who's this guy anyway?"

"Dr. Spencer Reid. A man who she framed for murder, sent to jail, and whose mother she tried to kill."

Carton stared blankly.

"What?"

"Yeah, she's got a crush on him."

He blinked, clearly not processing the situation.

"Trust me, Carton; I know what I'm doing."

And with that, Prentiss left.

* * *

"Ah, yes, Miss Team Leader Sir – I mean Ma'am," Garcia excitedly greeted Prentiss the moment she stepped out of the elevator, "good thing you're back from your very important not-related-to-Cat-Adams business because we've got a case."

"Um Garcia," she was momentarily distracted by the wobbly panda that was bouncing on Garcia's headband.

"Oh yes, this!" She pointed to her head happily, "I got it off eBay."

"I see," Prentiss chuckled, "but I'm afraid you might be missing two people on this case. Have you seen Reid?"

"Yeah he's at his desk, why would there be –" Garcia's normally happy face was drained of color, obviously connecting the dots.

"She didn't."

"I'm afraid she did," Prentiss nodded glumly.

"But you're not going to… I mean after all… with his mother – oh Prentiss why? And prison and Mexico and we still have Scratch and –"  
"Hey, hey Garcia breathe," Prentiss put her hand on her shoulder, "it's going to be okay. I'll be with him every step of the way."

"Oh, of course, yeah." Garcia took a deep breath, "he's in here."

She led Prentiss into the main room, where Reid was flipping through a large volume, feet up on the desk and a cup of coffee nearby.

"Reid, I need to see you in the scif." Prentiss's authoritative voice rung out, "the rest of you will be flying to..."

"Miami!" Garcia chimed in.

"Yes, Miami, for a new case."

The team nodded, muttering amongst themselves possible reasons for Reid's summons.

Reid himself looked very confused, placing his book down and following his team leader into the secure room.

"Please, sit down."

Reid hesitantly took a seat.

"Last week, through an old contact of mine, I found out a plan was being passed around the NSA," she opened a folder in front of her; a glossy photo of Cat Adams was paper-clipped to the top. Reid's eyes glanced over the photo, a nearly imperceptible shade passed over his face.

"This plan was to be coordinated with the FBI, more specifically the BAU. In an attempt to understand the criminal mind through the brain of a real criminal, captured high-profile intelligent criminals would be recruited and trained for positions within the system. Of course, these positions would be highly regulated and only extremely high-security clearance individuals would be aware of their existence, but how we deal with threats – foreign or domestic – would be drastically changed with information directly from the former perpetrators."

"What does this have to do with me?" Reid furrowed his eyebrows, still eyeing the photo but not wanted to broach the subject.

Prentiss bit her lip and handed him the file.

Reid drank in the information on the first page in one glance, but he lingered to stare at the photo. Her impetuous smile and piercing eyes gave him unpleasant flashbacks. He remembered the fear he had felt when, for a brief moment; he thought this woman had been pregnant with his child. The fear he had felt while his mother had been in the hands of Lindsey Vaughn. The fear he had felt in prison. Prison. He shuddered involuntarily. No amount of therapy could cure his brain of _prison._

"Reid?"

Prentiss leaned in, trying to regain the distracted genius's attention.

"So she's one of them?"

"The first actually. A test trial." Prentiss spoke quicker, somehow hoping the faster she delivered the news the less it would hurt. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. "When I learned of this, I convinced my contact in the NSA that the best person to talk to her would be me since she already knew who I was and would be far willing to talk to me than any random NSA agent."

"And how did that go?" Reid accidentally accented his words a little too defensively, but remembering Cat Adams was like salt in a wound that hadn't healed yet.

"She didn't let me get to the offer, she said she wanted you."

Reid's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not saying you have to do this, and if you don't ever want to see her again I understand completely. But I truly believe that this plan has some merit and Cat Adams could definitely offer valuable information regarding elite hit men and how alliances are formed amongst that community – not to mention the contacts she could have."

Reid leaned back in his chair, staring at the photo. Light glanced off the plastic film, and in the glossy texture, Reid saw a distorted reflection of himself. A young man with ruffled curly hair stared back at him. This man was turning over many ideas in his mind. Some were related to the file in front of him, most of them weren't – but that's just how it worked in his mind. At this very moment, he was considering playing another game with a woman who had tried to kill his mother and had given him a lifetime of PTSD. Yet something in the back of his mind wanted to play the game. That _stupid_ woman, who had caused him all this harm. That _stupid_ woman who had insulted the memory of the only woman he had ever loved. That _stupid_ woman who had tried to kill his mother.

Yet.

He was curious.

"Did she say what she wanted?" He could barely get above a whisper, which was how he talked when he was upset.

Prentiss shook her head.

"She just said she wanted you. The higher-ups have approved your communication with her, should you choose to. You will be briefed on the plane and I will be there the whole time."

"Do you have to be?" Reid looked up.

"What?" Prentiss furrowed her eyebrows.

"If we are completely alone then I think I could get the most honest read of her. Instead of the interrogation room, we should do it in her cell. Her guard will be up in the interrogation room, it will convince her she is still the powerful criminal with the influence to destroy the whole world. A room made for extracting valuable information gives her an ego trip and power. Her cell, on the other hand, is a deeply personal place where she spends most of her time. Her guard will be down, and she definitely won't expect it."

Prentiss let out a sly smile.

"You see Reid; this is why we call you a genius."


	3. Prelude

Chapter Three: Prelude

Reid had been fully briefed on the plane, the higher-ups had approved his idea about the cell, and all that was left was for him to actually do it.

Despite being a verified genius, Spencer Reid got nervous a lot. Anxiety was less of a disorder with him and more of a personality trait. Yet he managed to maintain the most perfect outer control of himself, except for that one time when he nearly choked a pregnant Cat Adams. However, that was excusable. She had been trying to kill his mom.

At the thought of his mom, Reid flinched. She couldn't remember the ordeal, but if she didn't have Alzheimer's then what would she say about what he was about to do? The kindly, loving woman who had been such an instrumental factor in his intellectual development would probably have given such good advice. Now she was reduced to her mental disorders. Plural.

 _If only things didn't change._

Reid was raised from his depressing thoughts by Prentiss's hand on his shoulder.

"We've landed."

* * *

Entering a prison was a nasty reminder of all Reid had been trying to forget the past year. The last time he had seen these grey walls had also been the last time he had seen Cat Adams. A few moments after making it out of his own jail he had ended up in Cat's, trying to maintain a sense of mental stability after being dumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. He had made strides in the past year. His therapist said he was doing well. He knew she would disapprove of what he was currently doing – more than disapprove, she would be horrified at it. He could very well be setting himself back months of therapy

Prentiss and Reid were following the prison guard along the row of solitary confinement cells. FBI was never welcome in a prison so when they had passed through normal quarters jeers and caged animals had thrown taunts. They could smell a fed a mile off, it was an almost enviable talent.

A dead-toned green door with a little hatch in it like fifty others they had passed was where the two agents eventually ended up.

"Agent Carton said he would be here soon, so we should probably wait for him," Prentiss checked her watch.

"Okay," Reid leaned against the wall, adjusting the messenger bag on his shoulder.

"Ah, here we are," Prentiss sighed.

Reid looked up to see a tall, bald, military type man strolling towards them. He was wearing a high-end suit and frame-less sunglasses. The click of his heels on the floor was louder than the high-heels Prentiss had been wearing. It was like a horse clip-clopping. Reid had to suppress a laugh at that thought.

"Agent Carton, this is Dr. Spencer Reid," Prentiss gestured to the scattered looking young man. Carton raised his eyebrows, extending his stiff hand to the messenger-bag-equipped FBI agent.

"Nice to meet you," Reid grasped his hand with surprising strength. Carton nodded without returning the salutation; apparently, he agreed that it was, in fact, very nice to meet him.

"So what's the plan here?" Carton addressed Prentiss expectantly.

"We really have to wait and see what terms she puts forward," Prentiss replied, "we've given her something she wants, which shows we're willing to negotiate."

Carton sighed, it was obvious he had little faith in Prentiss's words but was being forced to comply by the higher-ups.

"Well, no time like the present."

Prentiss gave the guard a nod and the two of them backed away so Reid could enter.


	4. The Discussion

Chapter Four: The Discussion

Reid drew a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and little goosebumps were forming on his skin. The solitary confinement cell was small, cold, and dark. He couldn't imagine living there.

"Spencer Reid?"

A voice drifted singsongingly from the shadows. The sallow face that accompanied it stared in amused surprise at the figure in front of it.

"Cat Adams," Reid nearly flinched at the sound of the door closing behind him. It was just the two of them now.

"They had me in a straitjacket for a while there," Cat grinned, "they were afraid I might be a danger to myself. Or others."

"You're in solitary confinement," Reid raised his eyebrows, "the only person you could hurt would be yourself."

She shrugged.

"Well, you're here."

"Why did you want me here?" Reid leaned his head to the side like a quizzical child.

"If I was going to be poked and prodded by the government I would rather have a conversation with someone _fun_ than someone _boring_."

Cat stood up, extending her hand to him.

"Dance with me?"

Reid didn't break eye contact. Eye contact was Cat's favorite tool. She was convinced that with enough eye contact she could break anyone. Reid was going to prove her wrong. He slid one hand over hers, pulling her into waltzing position with the other.

"Are we playing a game?" Reid asked, mentally counting the ¾ time he was dancing in.

"Yes," Cat sighed, "and you have perfect timing, Doctor."

"I know," Reid replied.

"You have thirty minutes to tell me the truth," she ran her fingers along the outline of Reid's chin, "if you tell me the truth then I'll help the stupid government with their project, if you don't tell me the truth then you can pick another candidate."

Reid frowned, stopping the waltz.

"You could bargain for better conditions, some comfortable asylum, or a sentence reduction," he tried to maintain the eye contact, but for the first time ever she faltered away, "but you'd rather play one of your stupid games?"

"I have a brand you know," she pouted, trying to keep up her femme fatale demeanor.

"Cat, the NSA and the FBI are partnering to create a project where high profile criminals will be used to catch other high profile criminals," there was a hint of desperation in his voice, he wanted her to say yes, "you could negotiate a better quality of life and –"

He hesitated. Should he even say this?

 _"You might even be used as a government spy."_

"Bullshit," Cat pushed him off her, "that's bullshit. I was a serial killer for hire."

"You killed men who wanted their wives dead." Reid sputtered, "You killed criminals."

"Who are you trying to convince?" Cat shouted, "Me or yourself?"

"BOTH! Okay, both," he started with an exasperated shout, but calmed himself down, "I want you to say yes."

Cat narrowed her eyes at him.

"What?"

"You wanted the truth so, here's the truth," he sighed, "every day it drives me insane that just because you chose the wrong path in life, a brilliant mind like yours is trapped in a prison cell for life."

"Don't you dare try to flatter me into submission Dr. Reid," Cat tried to throw a punch at him but Reid grabbed her arm.

"I'm not," he pushed her against the wall, his mind flashing back to when he had almost strangled her last year, "I'm trying to help you."

He released his hold on her.

"Cat, put aside your enormous pride for one moment and look at your options."

Cat bit her lip, she never cried. It wasn't the habit of a psychopath to cry. Nevertheless, she did get really, _really_ frustrated. Currently, she was that. Deep down, she knew she had to say yes. There would be no endless bargaining – she had no upper hand. After a few futile tries, they would give up and move on. Her only chance at some form of freedom, or relief from boredom, was in front of her right now. Yet the little demon in the back of her head was telling her to turn it into a game, to try to play the people around her like puppets, to wreak havoc and hatch a plan and be _Cat Adams._

"Okay."


	5. A Distraction

Chapter Five: A Distraction

A few days and a mountain of paperwork later Cat left her cell. She was being transferred God-knows-where to help in some secret project. Reid assumed that was the last he would see of her. They definitely would not want him around her, they were probably going to brainwash her into being their spy. He wondered how they could possibly brainwash someone like Cat; she was so set in her ways there didn't seem to be anything that would change her. He involuntarily shuddered at the thought of torture, but she was a psychopath and knew how to withstand that kind of stuff.

"Reid, we have a case," Garcia stirred him from his musings.

"Hmm?" I looked up from the book he had been pretending to read, "Oh, I'll be in in a minute."

He placed the volume on his desk, his eyes resting on the photo of his mother, which stood next to another pile of books. He smiled sadly, thinking of what she used to be like. He had placed rose-colored glasses over the memories of his childhood, but he preferred it that way.

"Spence!" J.J. gestured to him from the meeting room; he grabbed his messenger bag and ran up the stairs.

"So crime fighters," Garcia pulled some unsightly pictures up on the screen, "today you're going to Maine because this nasty guy is killing young blonde women out on runs."

"Any sign of sexual assault?" Rossi asked, looking over the file.

"None. And they were placed with their hands folded in front of trees."

"A sign of remorse," Prentiss commented, "the trees could represent headstones. Maybe he's trying to give them a proper burial?"

"That means the killing is a compulsion," J.J. sighed, "he's most likely suffering from some delusion that tells him he needs to kill these women against his better judgment. What do you think Spence?"

"Huh?" Reid looked up from the file, "oh yeah, ever since the beginning of time in all cultures, trees have been used to mark graves."

"Well, we'd better get going," Prentiss stood up, "wheels up in 30."

* * *

The entire flight Reid was distracted. He hardly joined in the discussion on the plane and sat to the side, staring out the window.

"Hey," Prentiss slid into the seat across from him, "are you okay?"

Reid shifted his glance from the window to her sympathetic face.

"Yeah, I'm fine thanks for asking," he replied, almost defensively. He was never good with the whole sharing-emotions thing.

"You seem..." Prentiss paused, "distracted."

"Where is she?"

"Ah," Prentiss leaned back, obviously fighting with herself internally, "I can't talk about it, Reid. It's classified."

Reid sniffed, turning his head back to the window. Prentiss sighed.

"We'll talk about this when we land. Maybe I can convince the higher-ups to give you clearance."

Reid nodded, giving her a silent "thank you" which she acknowledged, getting up and leaving the boy genius to his own devices. He turned his attention back to the window and seeing that they were near their destination began preparing to leave.

After landing and dropping their bags off at the hotels they would be staying at (if they didn't spend the whole time at the police station, that is) they all split up for their assigned jobs. Luke and J.J. were talking to the families of the victims, Prentiss was setting up at the station, Rossi was looking at the bodies, and Reid was left to visit the crime scene where all of the victims had been dumped. This was a feat in and of itself, for he managed to dump three bodies before they were discovered. Each had been lying at a different angle at the front of the same tree, only leaving room for one more before a perfect circle would have been complete.

They had been dumped in a clearing in the middle of the woods. Minus the yellow caution tape and the crime scene people swarming around, it was a very peaceful place. When Reid stepped out of the bushes and trees and into it, everything seemed to go dead quiet. It was like a liminal space. Where birds had been chirping and singing before, there was now nothing but complete silence. The wind could hardly gather enough strength to rustle the leaves of the singular willow tree in the middle of the oddly perfect circular clearing, it was as if Mother Nature didn't dare work her wiles in this spot – it was owned by someone else.

Reid frowned, feeling the full effect of this odd place. He scanned the circle, sensing that everyone else there was also very uneasy. He knelt down on the soft grass, examining it closely. It was purely grass – no weeds or sticks – just grass, evenly cut grass. The most prestigious lawn in all of the suburban neighborhoods would be jealous of this grass. He frowned again. Someone had created, cut, pruned, and kept this clearing perfect for years, which didn't seem to make sense with the "killing as a compulsion" theory they had originally come up with. This unsub had made the perfect dumping ground with a headstone from Mother Nature ready for him to use.

He whipped out his phone and dialed the group.

"Hey guys, I'm sending pictures right now," he pulled the phone away and snapped some photos of his surroundings, "but this is the strangest thing I've ever seen. It's like this unsub is playing out some extremely complex ritual. This clearing is perfectly circular – with mathematical precision, and the grass has been regularly mowed and weeded. It would take years of hard work to keep this place so perfect, so this unsub is extremely meticulous and controlled. He chose exactly when to kill these women."

"But that doesn't match at all with what the coroner said," Rossi sighed, "blitz attacks and sloppy strangulation. It's almost as if the kill means less to him than completing the ritual?"

"Maybe he's being coerced?" Luke put in, "or wait, maybe our unsub is a woman? That could account for the clean crime scene and the sloppy strangulation. Maybe she wasn't strong enough?"

"What did the families say?" Prentiss asked.

"All the victims were textbook good girls," J.J. replied, "not a skeleton in the closet. If this unsub has a type then that means they stalked these women beforehand, which once again shows organization."

"If this unsub is a woman, maybe she's going after the kind of woman she wished was?" Prentiss suggested, "We should meet back up at the station."

Everyone replied in the affirmative and the call ended.


	6. An Ending and a Beginning

Chapter Six: An Ending and a Beginning

"Hey Spence, can I talk to you for a sec?" J.J. pulled him to the side; the team was at the police station going over the case. They had narrowed down the suspect pool to women between the ages of 35-40 who had been denied opportunities in life in some way. Garcia had been cross-checking like a maniac and they felt confident they would be making an arrest soon.

"Yeah sure," he nodded, taking a sip of his coffee and drumming his fingers nervously on the side of the cup.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," she said gently, a worried look in her eyes. J.J. always cared so much about people, especially Reid.

"Yeah, I'm okay," his voice, once again, was barely above a whisper. Like it was when he was upset about something. J.J. leaned her head to the side, she knew better than anyone did what that voice meant.

"What were you and Prentiss talking about on the plane?"

"J.J. I really can't talk about it," he avoided eye contact, focusing on his coffee cup.

"Oh, okay," she drew back a little, comprehending what he meant, "just promise me you won't let yourself get involved in something too dangerous. Trust me, it's not fun."

She tried to smile a little, reminding both of them of her time in the Middle East and subsequent torture. Reid nodded, still looking down and drumming his fingers.

"Okay," J.J. sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to get anything else out of him "we'd better get back to work."

They returned to the meeting room. The table was covered in papers and whose boards were decked out with the crime scene, the suspect, and victim photos.

"How're we coming on that list Garcia?" Prentiss questioned the not-present but still all-knowing entity that was Penelope Garcia.

"Nearly done cross-checking the cross-checking," Garcia's cheery voice came through the speaker on the phone, "oh dear."

"What is it?" Rossi questioned.

"Guys, I think I just found our unsub."

"Well," Rossi smirked, "don't keep it to yourself."

"Oh, right sorry," the sound of typing could be heard over the speaker, "Jeanette Lawson, 37. Lived here her entire life and from hospital records, the first 18 of those were spent under heavy abuse. She barely graduated high-school and used that stunning GED to become a gardener"

"Can you pull up her mother?" Prentiss asked.

"Righto," Garcia typed away, "Carrie Lawson, maiden name Springs, was a New York native until she moved here two years before the birth of Jeanette. She has..." here Garcia paused, "guys, she's like the spitting image of those girls we found dead. Sending pics now."

Everyone checked his or her phones to see an old photo of presumably a 20-year-old Carrie Springs, a blonde, attractive, in shape woman.

"She must have blamed her mother for not protecting her from the abuse," Reid mused, "and the strange ritual isn't culturally symbolic… she's planting a garden."

Luke raised his eyebrows.

"She's what?"

"She's using the bodies in the same way a gardener would use flowers or stones, as a way to decorate a garden," Reid spoke quickly, his ideas connecting, "she's probably been creating that perfect space for years and these women representing her mother were the final touch."

"Must be an acquired taste," Rossi noted, looking at a photo of the nearly finished "garden."

"Send us her address, Garcia," Prentiss grabbed her equipment and rushed to the door.

* * *

It was a relatively clean arrest. There was no dramatic shootout or moment where they had to convince the unsub not to kill themselves. In all, it was a simple case. One of the ones that left everyone on the team feeling satisfied. Well, everyone except Reid.

"Hey," Prentiss took a seat across from Reid on the plane. He was staring at a book without turning any pages.

"I talked with Carton," she leaned in to whisper, "he said he would look into getting you clearance."

Reid's face lit up. He didn't know why he cared so much, but he really wanted to know. He felt some sort of responsibility for Cat since he convinced her to say yes.

"All this would mean is being able to know what is going on," Prentiss said sternly, "your input would mean nothing and no matter how much you disagree, you can't change it. Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes. I'm sure."


	7. An Inner Soliloquy

Chapter Seven: An Inner Soliloquy

When Reid got home the first thing he did was collapse onto his couch. Books, half-finished cups of coffee and tea, scribbled notes, and case files covered his coffee table. He slid his messenger bag onto the only remaining clear space and let out an audible sigh. After they had returned from Maine, Prentiss had informed him that Carton had managed to approve getting him clearance and that he would be considered a behavioral consultant. However, he knew this was only a title. As Prentiss said, he had no input in the case.

The case files weren't allowed to exit the scif, but this was never an issue for Reid. His mind had perfectly preserved an image of each page like a fossil. Since Cat Adam had agreed to participate in the program, she had been given a series of psychological and intellectual tests. The latter she passed with flying colors, the former she failed so badly it almost looked intentional – which is exactly what the notes from the test administrator said. Despite having given her full consent, there seemed to be something preventing her from being fully compliant. Reid scanned the words, remembering the video of the first psychological assessment Prentiss had shown him.

 _Cat sat across from the agent. Her color had been restored by the excitement and the break from prison food. In her eyes, which had been so dead, a certain spark had been lit, almost threatening in tone. She smiled sarcastically at the man, who didn't return the greeting. Cat's body language clearly showed she believed she was in control of this situation. In fact, it was exactly what Reid had feared…or could he say, hoped for? She now resembled the powerful woman he had met in the restaurant and not the caged animal he had found in prison._

 _"So, here to play Freud?" She taunted. The man looked unperturbed._

 _"You could say that," he pulled some papers out of his briefcase._

 _"Ah, a pity," Cat leaned back in her chair, "I'm more of a Carl Jung type. His "Psychology of the Unconscious" is a work of genius."_

 _"Indeed," the Agent sounded bored. Reid wondered if they had told him to act like that to throw Cat off her game. He knew she had wondered that too._

 _"Well, let's get to it," she leaned forward, "I didn't wet the bed or kill animals, but my daddy used to hit me and I liked to light things on fire. Got what you need, Sigmund?"_

 _The Agent didn't respond but instead handed her some papers._

 _"Select your answers and hand them to me when you are done."_

 _Cat smiled sardonically, taking the papers and the pen offered her._

 _"Why not a pencil?" She looked at the writing instrument, still an imperial tone of sarcasm in her voice._

 _"So you can't revise your answers," the man responded._

 _Cat let out a soft laugh then turned her attention to the test._

Reid opened his eyes; he hadn't even realized he had closed them. The room around him looked strange and foreign after spending so much time in his head. Then again, most of his life outside of work was spent inside his head. After he had sent his mother back to live at the facility in Houston, he had been perfectly alone. He liked to count his books as friends, and sometimes J.J. would stop by, or the others would invite him out for drinks, but most of the time he was alone.

It's not like he was sad about it. He loved solitude. He was the most zealous of introverts. Besides, the things he loved doing usually failed to interest anybody, especially women.

He fondly remembered Mauve. It didn't hurt as much now to think of her. She was now like some sort of beautiful dream, and the time he had spent with her was like his favorite movie. It had ended, but he could re-watch it as many times as he wanted.

The thing he missed most about her was how easily they had talked. He never needed to slow down so she could catch up, he never had to explain a reference to some obscure 14th-century work of poetry from Southern France, he never had to stop himself from going off into a rant about something people didn't care about – because she understood, she cared.

She _had._

He often had to correct himself like that. She wasn't here anymore. Mauve was no longer just a phone call away. It was really a tragically depressing thing, but perhaps more depressing was the fact that everyone always moves on. We never mourn anyone for life. Slowly they fade into a memory.

Reid knew it was best that way, how could he have expected the love of his life to be his? Things never went his way.

A harsh rapping on his door roused him from his depressing inner monologue. He scrambled up and opened it to reveal a bald man in a suit holding a briefcase.

"Dr. Spencer Reid?" He questioned.

"Yes, who are you?" Reid asked.

"Agent Carton," he reminded him, "we met at the prison. Agent Prentiss has been contacting me on your behalf."

"Oh! Yes of course!" Reid laughed, stepping to the side to let him enter, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I would like to offer you an assignment," Carton entered, glancing around the oddly decorated apartment, "do you have somewhere we can sit and discuss?"


	8. What An Unusual Job Offer

Chapter Eight: What an Unusual Job Offer

Reid leaned back in the chair, waiting for Carton to begin his proposition. A deductive Sherlock type, Spencer Reid could easily tell many things about an individual from their body language. Carton had a definite military vibe about him; any amateur could have guessed that. He sat rather uncomfortably in the chair Reid had offered him, his eyes glancing left and right at the odd room surrounding him. The books lining the walls, tables, and sometimes the floor seemed to irk him. He evidently wasn't much of a reader. Reid also noticed a certain judgmental air in the way the Agent opened his briefcase and shuffled his papers; it was as if he was here against his better judgment.

This and much more, Reid assessed in a split second.

"So, I assume you already know why I'm here," Carton set a few files out on the table, eyeing the exhausted looking man in front of him, who had somehow acquired another cup of coffee and was sipping it expectantly.

"I have an inkling," Reid responded, placing the cup down and leaning forward.

"You recently were assigned the position of "Behavioral Consultant" in Operation Osiris," Carton opened a file and handed it to him, "Agent Prentiss informed you this title was merely honorary, however, the Operation headers have decided that your assistance in this case is necessary in order for it to be successful."

Reid picked up his cup again, finishing the drink and then walking to the sink to rinse it out. Carton sat still at the table, awaiting a response in vain.

"It is, of course, your choice to make," he watched Reid flipping through the file he had been handed, "but Osiris would greatly benefit from your cooperation."

Reid was hardly listening to the man at his kitchen table; instead, his mind was rapidly weighing the pros and cons of joining the Operation. For a brief moment, he considered what Prentiss would think, but then he decided.

"I'm in."

"Good," Carton smiled sourly, "unfortunately the details cannot be discussed at this current location. The files you have are merely preliminary," he stood up, pulling a little card out of his suit jacket pocket, "this address, tomorrow at twenty-three hundred hours sharp."

"Safe house, I presume?" Reid took the card, memorizing the address in an instant.

"A neutral zone," Carton picked up his briefcase, "where Subject One will be transferred."

Reid raised his eyebrows.

"Subject One? You mean Cat Adams?"

Carton didn't reply, which in itself was an answer.

"You won't find me at the house tonight, I'm not a field Agent," he sighed, checking his watch, "but now I'm afraid I must go."

He stuck out his hand, which Reid shook hesitantly.

* * *

The rain fell softly on the sidewalk, glancing off gutters and awnings into the flowerbeds outside the suburban houses. No cars were passing through the streets except one – a simple black sedan, driving a little below the speed limit. It passed by the quiet households and simple lawns, only disturbed by the barking of a dog and the hooting of a few owls until it stopped before a plain cracker-box house just like the rest on the block. The car door opened and out climbed a man with rather messy hair and a thin build. He sent a nearly imperceptible glance around him, making sure he wasn't being followed, then closed the car door and headed to the entrance.

Reid tapped three times on the door and then tapped a fourth time after an interval. A small latch in the door was opened, a pair of eyes silently questioning him.

"I'm here for the Egyptian mythology book," he said, "the one about Osiris."

The latch closed and Reid heard a succession of clicks before the door creaked open. A short woman with brown curly hair and piercing eyes was his interlocutor.

"Of course, come right in," she replied, Reid detected a slight Irish accent.

When the door was safely closed behind him, the woman spoke again.

"Welcome to the safe house," she gestured around her, "I'm Agent Carla McFreely, but you can call me Freely."

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," he extended his hand for her to shake; "you can call me Reid."

"Nice to meet you, Reid," she smiled, shaking it warmly.

"So I wasn't exactly given much information about this Operation," Reid took a seat at the kitchen table, which was covered in NSA surveillance equipment, weaponry, things he didn't even recognize, and files, "all I know is that Subject One will be here and that I'm a behavioral consultant."

"That's all you really need to know, to be honest," Freely took a seat, tapping away at a computer while talking, "we've been having a little bit of an issue trying to get Subject One to cooperate, and since you already have rapport with them and are a profiler, you seem to be the obvious answer to our problem."

"What exactly are you trying to get her to cooperate to?"

"She refuses to treat the Agents instructing her with respect, throws violent fits, and threatens to kill people," Freely sighed.

"That's her," Reid couldn't refrain himself from smiling, "I mean, honestly, did you expect anything else from a criminal like her? She is completely egocentric and gets high off power. By giving her this position, you have inflated her sense of self-importance. You need to diminish it so she feels desperate to prove herself."

"Hey well, that's why it's your job and not mine," she laughed.


	9. Breathless

Chapter Nine: Breathless

Cat sighed, staring out the tinted window and watching the trees and houses roll by. It had been hours in the car and she had no idea where she was going – all she knew was that she was being taken to a behavioral specialist. Cat had agreed to join this program in the hopes that she could actually _do_ something again, but now it felt the same as prison. They kept handing her tests and sending her through evaluations, she hadn't had the opportunity to actually do anything. She fondly thought of her days as a hit man. Simpler times.

The car came to a stop, Cat rolled her eyes and prepared to be dragged out and led to another place to be poked and prodded by government agents.

"Alright you," Agent Drew, a tall body-builder type with a dark complexion, opened the car door and offered his hand to the woman, "We're here."

Cat grudgingly took it and climbed out. The second escort, Agent Alcor, was bringing the bags out from the trunk of the car. He was of similar build to Drew, only with dark brown hair and green eyes.

As she got out, Cat caught a glimpse of herself in the car mirror. Her hair had grown during her stay in prison; it now glided a little bit past her shoulders. Her dark eyes were lined with eyeliner and her lashes accented with mascara – she had been allowed some makeup. Red lipstick, a natural essential to her look, completed the femme fatale vibe she was going for. Her closet was hardly unique, but it was better than prison jumpers were. A simple white blouse with a pair of formal pants. In all, she was beginning to look like herself again. Cat knew that the way someone dresses said a lot about him or her, and with these small things, she had managed to regain control over this important part of her manipulative power play.

Drew pulled her by the arm to the door. She scowled and pushed him off.

"I can walk by myself, thank you very much."

Followed by Drew and Alcor, Cat walked up the pathway and knocked on the door. The hatch slid open and Freely's eyes questioned the Agents standing next to Cat.

"I'm here about that Egyptian mythology book," Drew sighed, his tone of voice betrayed that he thought the code ridiculous, "the one about Osiris."

The door creaked open and Freely led the three newcomers inside.

Drew and Alcor stood in front of Cat, leading her into the living room, where she was guided toward an armchair and made to sit. She saw the woman who had opened the door slip into the kitchen and say something to somebody else. Cat tried to peer around the corner but the angle of the chair made it impossible for her to see who Freely was conversing with.

"So why am I here again?" Cat drawled, leaning back in the armchair and staring at the two Agents. Drew, the more dominant of the two, took it upon himself to respond.

"You know why you are here, Ms. Adams. And I suggest you remain silent unless questioned."

Cat tilted her head to the side, her body language defensive and bristling.

"Now, now, if we're going to be working together, you're going to have to play nice."

The hissing tone of voice made the Agent instinctively draw back. This woman – weaponless, surrounded by agents, physically un-intimidating – managed to cast a spell of complete control over those around her. Cat grinned at the reaction, preparing herself for whatever socially awkward nerd they would bring in as a behavioral consultant.

Freely appeared around the doorway, followed by a familiar face. Cat's airway seemed to be blocked and it took her a moment to catch her breath again. A deductive genius, even she had not expected the government to be so stupid.

Reid, on the other hand, had no visible reaction to the woman seated across the room, but instead continued talking in a low voice to Freely. Cat leaned in to try to hear what they were saying. Undoubtedly, it had to do with her.

"...really is the best Russian author in my opinion," Reid was saying, "I mean, Crime and Punishment is a work of art."

"I see where you're coming from," Freely replied, "but the conflict between passion and responsibility in Anna Karenina is captivating at every page."

Cat furrowed her eyebrows, grunting loudly to let them know she was there. Reid shot one glance her way and then sighed deeply, whispering something to Freely, who exited the room.

"Hi, Dr. Spencer Reid, nice to meet you," Reid extended his hand to Drew, who stood up and shook it.

"Special Agent Stephan Drew, nice to meet you too," he then gestured to his seated partner, "this is Special Agent Lloyd Alcor."

Alcor stood and shook Reid's hand.

"Gentlemen," Reid sighed, "could you please wait in the other room."

"We were given direct –"

"Please," Reid made knowing eye contact with Drew, who seemed to understand.

Once the two had exited, Reid took a seat across from Cat, pulling out a file and beginning to flip through it.

"You're refusing to cooperate with testing and being increasingly problematic," he read from the file, "can you tell me why, Ms. Adams?"

Cat was biting the inside of her cheeks, almost drawing blood.

"Don't call me that, Spencer," she spat, "I thought we were on better terms than that. I tried to kill your mother, got you sent to jail, caused you a lifetime of PTSD… we're practically married."

Reid didn't respond. Instead, he stared at her, making direct eye contact.

Unused to such a challenge, she faltered away. At that moment, she knew she had made a mistake.

"I'm not afraid of you," Reid leaned in, his eyes domineering and piercing, "I have complete control over this situation. You mean nothing to me. You mean less than nothing. I am here as a favor to my friend, and nothing more. Don't you _dare_ think for one moment that there is something more going on here. You sent me to jail, where I almost crumbled. Almost. But you didn't crumble me, Cat Adams. Because you lost and you're under my thumb. With one word, I could send you back to that cell, where you will have colorless grey tones for the rest of your life. So I suggest you cooperate."

Cat remained expressionless, but inside she was burning with the fury of a thousand suns. She wanted to pounce on him and dig her nails into his skin, she wanted to take a knife to his chest, she wanted to press her lips – wait.

That's not right.

Cat checked herself mentally. Her face must have betrayed some odd reaction, for Reid furrowed his brow in confusion. He had expected rage, derision, sardonic humor, taunting, but instead, he got nothing. The only reaction visible to the keenest of observers was that Cat gripped onto the arms of her chair a little tighter than before. And since Reid was the keenest of observers, he noticed it.

It was no secret she had always felt a certain kind of twisted connection to him. Why else would she have put so much effort into orchestrating his arrest?

The silence had gone on too long, so Cat broke it.

"If I were to listen," she began slowly, " _if._ What would I have to do?"


	10. Dorian Orval

Chapter Ten: Dorian Orval

Reid stared at the woman in front of him. Instinctively he thought of her as the Moriarty to his Sherlock. The only real difference between her and the fictional professor was, while Cat Adams was an exceptionally brilliant person, despite her self-diagnoses she was not a psychopath. If anything, she was a high functioning sociopath. She had almost complete control over the angry outbursts that came along with that set of psychological issues – but on occasion, if he baited her well enough, Reid could coax out an explosion.

He had expected such an explosion as a reaction to what he had just said, but instead, he was faced with suspicious complacency. It was refreshing, but he was wary. Cat was awaiting a response to her query, so he spoke.

"You will need to complete all the certifications without acting up," he handed her a list from the file, "and after that, you will be questioned extensively about criminal groups and how your operations work..." Reid scanned the file, his eyes resting on a particular part.

He hadn't been prepared for this.

"...and according to this, there's a plan for you going undercover."

Cat perked up, hardly able to contain the excitement in her eyes.

"Undercover? I always loved James Bond."

"The plan is to stage a prison breakout and for you to offer your services to The Ice Elephants."

At this name, she drew back. She didn't say anything but Reid recognized the reaction. It was fear.

"They would have no reason to suspect you, and I do not doubt you know how to insert yourself into their direct line of vision," Reid tried to assure her, but even he was having doubts.

The Ice Elephants were perhaps the most notorious Russian mob group in the world. While it was not official, the US government knew that they did the dirty work for most Russian spies. This group spent a good amount of time in the states – to a point where they fit quite nicely into the criminal underground of the US. The common interest of wanting to screw over the government made them into nice allies for many criminal groups. Cat's old hitman group had been high profile but in a completely different way. Their interests had been strictly in the United States. Mobsters and Russian spies were hardly the crowds they hung around.

Yet, as this information resurfaced in Cat's brain, she recalled one old contact, Dorian Orval, who had once let something slip while very drunk about how he had sold arms to the Ice Elephants.

"I think I have something that can help already," Cat mused aloud, "can you run the name Dorian Orval? If Garcia is up, that is."

Reid checked his watch, shrugged, and pressed speed-dial on his phone.

"Someone better be dead," the groggy voice of Garcia came over the speaker.

"Hi, Garcia," Cat singsongingly interjected.

"Ignore her," Reid cut in, "I need you to run a name."

"Oh my dear Reid, why must you always get yourself into these situations?" Garcia replied anxiously.

"I'm here on official government business," Reid replied, "they brought me in as a behavioral consultant, but I think I might end up being more than that. So can you please run this name?"

"Agh, you're lucky I love you and that I have my system at home. What do you need wonder boy?"

"The name Dorian Orval."

"Anything to narrow it down by?"

"Around 5 foot 8, brown hair, 35-40 years old. Russian accent," Cat replied.

"I'm never going to get used to that voice," Garcia shivered, "full offense meant, you meanie."

"I don't know how I'll ever recover from such a biting remark, Penelope."

Garcia didn't reply, all that was heard was the tapping of keys.

"Yup! Found him. One Dorian Orval, 41, lives in New York. Sending a picture now."

Reid checked his phone and then showed the photo to Cat, who confirmed his identity.

"Oh, bad news for you guys," Garcia sighed, "there's no record of Mr. Orval prior to 2010. It's a fake identity. No current address either."

"Well, thanks anyway Garcia," Reid replied, still staring at the picture.

"Reid, can you take me off speakerphone for a minute?"

He obliged.

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed into the phone, "Does Prentiss know you're there? I mean after all that she's done, you can't actually be _working_ with her? Please don't do anything stupid Reid."

"Garcia it's fine," he turned away from Cat and whispered, "Prentiss asked me to help and now the higher-ups are requesting that I be more involved. I don't think I'm going to escape this case that easy. But don't worry, I'm not in any danger – I promise."

"Ooh just please stay safe wonder boy," Garcia begged.

"I will."


	11. And So It Begins

Chapter Eleven: And So It Begins

Prentiss leaned back in the desk chair, staring aimlessly in front of her. In the background, a clock on the wall ticked away. Her long black hair seemed a stark contrast to the brilliant white of the room around her. She brushed her bangs out of her face and frowned. Obviously, she was deep in thought.

"You wanted to see me?" Reid had entered the scif, the clearance badge dangling around his neck.

"Yes, Reid," Prentiss looked up, "I have some important information."

Reid shuffled in, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag before taking a seat in front of the desk.

"Before I give you this I just want to know if you are in any way overwhelmed by what has been going on."

Reid knew his answer but was silent for a moment. Prentiss bit her lip, awaiting the response.

"I'm okay, Emily."

She exchanged knowing eye contact with him before handing over a file.

Reid opened it and was greeted by a photo of himself. He quickly read the contents, which delivered some unexpected news.

He had been named the chief of communications and behavioral consultant on operation Osiris. Which meant he made calls. He had power. He was able to change things if he didn't like them.

"This is home base," Prentiss handed him a slip of paper that had an address on it, "at least for now. If I am being honest Reid, you seem to be the only person capable of controlling the situation when Cat is in the room. Your history with her has established a kind of rapport that no other agent has managed to build."

Reid didn't respond to this. Instead, he stared at the paper blankly until the woman in front of him grunted loudly to recall his attention.

"To what degree am I to be involved in this case?"

Prentiss averted her eyes as if trying not to betray something in a look.

"Emily?"

"They're –" she coughed, "they're thinking about putting you in the field."

"I can handle this," Reid tucked the slip of paper into the file and slid it onto the desk, "I'm an FBI agent with several PhDs."

"And who barely passes his gun certification," she smiled sadly, "I just don't know if this is the wisest choice for you. I just don't want you to get caught up in…"

Reid waited in vain for her to finish her sentence.

"In what?"

"In trying to control her. Trying to get revenge for what happened in Mexico."

His expression hardened and he arose from the chair.

"I know how to control myself, Emily. I can do good things on this case."

"Reid I've been involved in undercover work before and we both know how that turned out. I'm just trying to protect you."

"No offense, but I'm not a child that needs protecting."

He took one last look around the room before exiting.

* * *

"I hope you understand the gravity of this situation, Agent Reid."

"Of course, I intend to assist to the fullest of my abilities."

Agent Jessamine, a fat middle-aged man with wrinkly skin and piercing eyes, looked up from the papers in front of him at this reply.

"You should assist with more than your fullest abilities," he grunted and adjusted the reading glasses perched on his nose, "you have been fully briefed and your mission training is complete. You have been temporarily removed from your regular assignments and as of now, you are officially off the grid. Welcome to Osiris, Agent Reid."

He proceeded to emphatically stamp one of the papers in front of him and slide it toward another man sitting to his right.

"It all seems in order," Agent Shaw muttered, looking over the papers. The man's thin figure was a sharp contrast to the man sitting next to him. Shaw handed the paper to Reid. It was a sheet detailing a fake identity.

"You will receive a passport and additional important papers at the next secure location. Your instructions for travel to Russia will be given and your mission will begin at once." Jessamine leaned back in his chair, "I expect your work will be exceptional here Agent Reid, you are more than qualified for this kind of thing."

"Thank you, sir," Reid nodded.


	12. Reid, Spencer Reid

Chapter Twelve: Reid, Spencer Reid

"Just got him to sleep," J.J. let out a sigh of relief and pushed her long blonde hair into a ponytail, "I need a glass of wine."

Will nodded and poured out the dark red liquid into two glasses.

"Here's to a well-deserved break," she raised hers in a toast and Will clinked his glass to hers.

And then her phone rang.

J.J. groaned and placed down the glass, the content of which sloshed around, narrowly missing the brim. Will grinned silently at her and took a sip.

"Yes?"

"Agent Jareau," the director's voice came over the phone, "this call is to inform you that Agent Reid has been removed temporarily from the team for the foreseeable future. You are to resume work as usual and requests regarding this decision on his part will not be answered. He will be unreachable by any contact during this time."

And with that, they hung up the phone.

"Who was it?" Will asked, noticing the shocked look on his wife's face.

"The director…" her wide eyes were stilling staring at the phone, "Reid's been removed from the team. Will, I think he's gone undercover."

Will placed down his glass and drummed his fingers nervously on the countertop.

"Why do you say that?"

"He's unreachable and they're not answering questions about it," she pinched the bridge of her nose, "he was acting really strange recently and he wouldn't tell me what it was about."

"He's a capable agent," Will assured her, "he'll be fine. How many degrees does that kid have anyway?"

"Too many," she chuckled, "but even the most capable of agents don't recover from undercover work. I mean, look at what happened to Prentiss. Look what happened to me."

"Hey, hey," Will slid his hands into hers, "it's gonna be okay. You gotta trust in that."

"Yeah," she sniffled and felt a tear fall onto her cheek. Will brought one hand up and ran it through her hair, pulling her head onto his shoulder.

* * *

When Reid awoke that morning he was surrounded by familiar things – books, old teacups, strange little statues, and pictures – but the air was foreboding and stale. Something in the back of his mind was screaming at the top of its tiny lungs and little butterflies of the worst sort did summersaults in his stomach. Soft, early morning sunlight peeked in through the cracks in the closed curtains, Reid's eyes followed the line it made on his dark bedroom floor.

 _Ring. Ring._

The alarm on his phone played that annoying ringtone that he awoke to every day. Only today was not just any day. This was the last time Reid would see this apartment for… well, he didn't even want to imagine how long. The familiar smells, sights, and sounds of this life would be traded for something far more sinister and dangerous. While that tiny voice in the back of his mind screamed, another one, louder, whispered into his ear. This was exciting. This was dangerous. This was a test of strength and will. This was everything his life had been building up to.

He jabbed his finger at the red button on the screen and shoved the covers aside. Tea, toast, and eggs were his fair-well meal. He knew J.J. would check up on the place while he was gone. She was too smart not to have guessed what was going on.

He smiled at the thought of J.J.

Back when they had first started working together, he had developed feelings for her. She had been the first pretty woman to pay attention to him since the girls at college who just wanted him to do their homework. Over time these feelings turned into one of the most solid friendships he had ever had. Sometimes he found himself wondering what life would have been like if he had acted on those feelings when he had had the chance. But it was wishful thinking. They were better off as friends.

As his thoughts turned to the sweeter side of the human emotions he accidentally reminded himself of Maeve. Whenever he thought of her he got a strange feeling in his chest. Most people compared it to being stabbed with a knife or feeling heavy, but for him, it was like his heart was pumped full of air. It felt like it was burning and expanding with the fury of a thousand suns.

He then thought of Cat.

She was a peculiar woman, to say the very least. Cat Adams was made up of an undoubtedly brilliant mind, a more than healthy ego, and a desire for chaos. Reid didn't want to stop and wonder why the next woman he thought of after the love of his life was an ex-serial killer. She had committed unforgivable atrocities in order to gain his attention and get revenge, and she had succeeded. He thought of the terrifying, mind-numbing days he spent in prison. He thought of the fear he had felt for his mother's life. He thought of all the times she had been more than willing to sacrifice any of his friends to get to him. And despite all this, something in him wanted to know more. Somehow, he couldn't take it personally. Prentiss had been worried he would try to seek revenge, but he was having a hard time even being angry at Cat. He was just intrigued. But that was something Cat could never know. Her ego would inflate far too much and he would put everything and everyone at risk.

Any minute now, a car would arrive to take him to the airport. While he had been silently soliloquizing in his head, he had gotten dressed in a well-made suit. Reid knew that the way someone dressed said a lot about him or her, and with these small things, like a tailored suit or an expensive tie, he managed to obtain the respect he knew he deserved at first glance.


	13. To Russia, With Love

Chapter Thirteen: To Russia, With Love

 _Buzz Buzz._

"Doctor Spencer Reid? I'm 'ere to pick ya up."

"I'll be right down," Reid spoke into the phone, "thank you."

He took one final look around his apartment, capturing his surroundings like a photograph in his mind. He hoped to revisit that photograph during his absence.

With an audible sigh, he picked up the bag next to the door. He wouldn't need much except toiletries and a change of clothes, everything would be provided for him.

Moving less like a man in control of his own actions and more like a robot on autopilot he made his way down to the car parked outside. An inconspicuous dark sedan, at least from a civilian's point of view. From anyone involved in the government it was painfully clear to see it was a government vehicle. Honestly, an ice-cream truck would have made a better disguise.

"Alright there Dr. Reid," the driver rolled down the window and peered out, "just put your bag in the trunk and we'll be on our way then."

He complied and soon they were on their way. Reid watched the houses zoom by. Inside, people were waking up and getting ready for school or work. They were leading their normal lives, unaware of the government agent being transported right outside their door. The flight would take 10 hours, but it wouldn't be in a government private jet. Instead, Reid would be flying in the cheapest seats under the fake identity of David Hobbs, a traveling writer looking for inspiration for his next work.

The Russian government had learned to pay extra attention to the people coming into their country under very normal, boring reasons. A writer traveling to Russia for no other purpose than to search for inspiration was just out of the ordinary enough for the government to dismiss it as something too stupid for the US to try and pull. A beautiful use of reverse psychology.

Reid had already memorized the address where he was to meet the other agents on the case and where the base would be set up. Bar tabs, restaurant checks, department store bills, and souvenir shops would be slowly fabricated under the name David Hobbs during Reid's time there. They had no room for error, their every move would be under strict surveillance.

Although the Ice Elephants worked mainly out of America, their founder and boss stayed safely in Russia. That way, even if the US government were to capture the American unit, they could always continue their work from Russia.

Any minute now a story would hit the news. Reid hoped that his team members back in Washington could derive what was happening and stay out of it. That news story would be a fake report on a jailbreak from a maximum security prison. Cat's prison. It was to ensure the Ice Elephants wouldn't suspect government involvement.

Reid didn't know how Cat was getting into the country. He had not been privy to the details of anyone else's travel in case his position was compromised. In the case of top-secret affairs, the less you knew, the better it was for you. Scrape by with the bare minimum you need to do your job and don't ask any questions. Knowing a lot makes you a big red target.

The car rolled to a stop, the driver nodded to the airport terminal in front of them.

"Go get 'em, tiger."

* * *

A misty fog seemed to blanket the city, a few stragglers passed along the streets, shielding themselves from the slight drizzle of rain falling from the sky. The darkness was only broken by a few flickering street lamps. It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, but then again, anyone who'd ever heard a pin drop would know that they are deceptively loud.

Through this quiet, the pitter-patter of shoes on wet cobblestone could be heard – if anyone was listening, that is.

A man walked down the street, eyeing the numbers on the houses around him. While warehouses and abandoned buildings were the hideouts of choice for criminals, unsuspecting suburban homes were those of the government.

Reid finally saw the house where he was expected and rapped sharply on the door.

There was no response, but Reid knew someone was listening.

"God it's so cold," he spoke aloud, as if to himself, "if only I'd brought a better coat."

The door opened. These words were all the confirmation the agent inside needed. Reid nodded to the woman before him. She was thin and tall, with stick straight blonde hair and intense blue eyes. It seemed as if she was looking down at him. Reid felt at once that they were not going to get along. She spoke with a thick Russian accent that made her hard to understand.

"Come in, Mr. Hobbs."


	14. The Plan

Chapter Fourteen: The Plan

When Reid entered the house it took him only a few quick seconds to drink in his surroundings. It average looking interior kept its secret well, if someone were to enter they would never suspect where they were. Reid knew the basement had little trapdoors and secret hiding places where weapons and other useful objects and devices were kept. The woman closed the door and led the agent into the empty living room.

"Where are the others?"

"Catherine Adams shall be arriving soon," the woman walked into the kitchen and began preparing two cups of coffee, "until then it's just you and I, Mr. Reid."

"And what is your name?"

"Special Agent Marcelle Adrianov," she stirred one of the cups, "do you take milk or sugar with your coffee?"

"Both," Reid seated himself on the couch. Adrianov handed him his drink and leaned back into an armchair opposite him.

They sipped their coffees in silence. Reid felt her eyes scanning him, which made him very uncomfortable. He was just about to attempt to break the awkward silence when there was a sharp rapping on the door. Reid made a movement to get it but Adrianov made a signal for him to remain seated.

She approached the door, listening closely for the secret code from outside. After a short interval, she opened it.

"Please come in Miss Laurel," Adrianov greeted the woman.

When Adrianov moved aside Reid took an involuntary sharp breath. It was like he had gotten the wind knocked out of him.

Cat smirked at him as Adrianov closed the door.

"Hello there Mr. Hobbs," she mocked, "nice to meet you."

Adrianov eyed her with suspicion and then checked her watch impatiently.

"It's my turn on the stakeout," she sighed, "there is a file containing your instructions in the kitchen, read it and memorize the information. Then burn it."

Without another word, Adrianov grabbed her coat and slipped out the door.

Cat sauntered over to the kitchen and picked up the file, flipping through its pages.

"Care to share with the class, Miss Laurel?" Reid took another sip from his coffee.

"No, I'm good," she replied, still reading the file, "ooh would you look at that…"

"What?" Reid got up and grabbed the file from her hands.

Since he had a miraculous reading speed it took him a few seconds to absorb the contents of the pages in front of him.

Cat had come into the country under the name Annie Laurel. The name was less to disguise her from the Russian government and more to keep up the façade of a prison break. Cat was to use all the contacts she could to find a way into the Ice Elephants line of sight. Her job was to become a double agent, conveying information to the US government to find out how to effectively shut down the entire operation. The legality of it was shaky, but the secret agents had no one to answer to except themselves.

The operation was far more freehand than most. Reid supposed that was why he was there. They were experimenting with protocol and letting a former criminal call the shots, they couldn't do that without a skilled behavioral specialist by her side – especially one who had a personal connection with her.

That was why Reid was also to follow undercover.

Not as David Hobbs. That was also only a precaution to make it look like he was hiding from something – the US government.

The plane was to make out Agent Spencer Reid to be an FBI agent gone rogue, pulled over to the dark side by Cat Adams. It was no secret amongst those who had their ears to the ground that Reid had danced the line between good and bad during his time in prison. The rumors were extremely exaggerated, with some even claiming that he killed his friend in jail to gain more sympathy from the court. It was ridiculous and untrue, but also very helpful for this mission.

"Just gonna stand there, partner in crime?" Cat playfully slid her hands over Reid's, pulling the file out from his grasp. "I mean, I'm supposed to have seduced you into black magic and all, shouldn't we be method actors with our roles?"

Reid leaned against the counter. He halfheartedly tried to disentangle her fingers from his.

"Y'know, the only things tapped in this house are the phones," she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "you still wanna hold me down and give me bruises that won't go away?"

"Is that what you want me to do?" He sighed, "Or are you just trying to gain back the control that was stripped away in jail?"

Cat scowled, pulling her hands away.

"Okay," she shoved them into her pockets and leaned on the counter next to him, "why don't you tell me your little psychological evaluation, Doctor?"

"No, I'm good," he smirked, grabbing the file from her and pulling out a lighter.


	15. Chess

Chapter Fifteen: Chess

As Reid and Cat watched the file in front of them turn slowly into ash, an uncomfortable silence filled the room. There were so many things those two brilliant minds could talk about, perhaps that was what made it so hard to find something. Should they discuss the case? Their past? Ancient Chinese philosophy? The merits of both the Zunich and Vienna schools of thought? Any subject matter would have led to an enlightening and brilliant conversation that only those two could have had.

And yet, they remained silent.

When they had first met, the kind of lives they led had been miles apart in Cat's eyes. An FBI agent and a criminal? No two people could be more different, right? But the more she had gotten to know the brilliant agent, the more she had realized how alike they were. Whether Reid was willing to admit that to himself or not she didn't know. All she knew was that it was true. She had spent so long vying for his attention that now that she had it she had no idea what to do.

"So, what're we supposed to do next?" Cat sighed, staring at her red fingernails.

"Wait for Adrianov, I suppose."

"Boooring," she leaned against the fridge and slid down to the ground, "how long is that going to take?"

"I have no idea," Reid checked his watch and scanned the room, looking for something to occupy the time.

On one of the coffee tables near the couch stood a small chess board.

"How're your chess skills?"

"Better than yours," Cat scoffed, "throwing down the gauntlet, Dr. Reid?"

"I am," he replied, setting up the game on the kitchen table. "Pick a hand," he offered his clenched fists to her, one containing the black King and the other containing the white King.

"If I get white I'm gonna cry," she warned, selecting the left fist, which of course contained the white one.

"I thought you weren't capable of crying," Reid taunted her.

"That's the thing that happens when your allergies are bad, isn't it?"

He let out a small laugh and started setting up his black pieces meticulously.

"White goes first," he leaned forward, resting his pointer finger on the side of his temple.

"I know how to play the game," Cat moved the pawn in front of the King one space ahead. Reid mirrored her move. The pawn in front of the Queen went forward two spaces, then the black bishop flew over five spaces.

"Check."

"A little early for that, isn't it?" Cat sighed, moving her pawn to block the bishop. He moved the bishop back a space and waited.

Cat moved her knight. Reid killed a pawn. She killed a pawn. He moved his Queen.

"Check."

Cat moved her bishop in front of the King.

"You're so predictable."

"Oh yeah, that makes perfect sense," he pushed forward a pawn, "considering I managed to win a battle of the wits against you not too long ago."

"Maybe I let you win," she killed his pawn with a dramatic gesture.

He raised his eyebrows slightly and killed the pawn with his Queen.

"Don't get too heated, you make mistakes when you get angry."

"Never correct your enemy when he's making a mistake," she moved a pawn forward, "learn from the wise Napoleon."

Reid moved another pawn without a word. She moved her white bishop over three spaces.

"Check," she simpered.

"Okay then," he moved his knight to block it.

She moved her Queen over.

"Check."

He moved his King. She moved the black bishop. He moved a pawn dangerously close to her white bishop. She drew it back, scowling. Then he moved his white bishop across the board near her Queen.

"Rookie move," she smirked, moving her pawn diagonal to it. He drew back.

She moved her bishop diagonal to the Queen.

He took a moment to find a safe spot, then moved the Queen a space to his left.

She moved her knight to the side. He touched on his Queen for a moment before lifting his hand in thought.

"Stuck?" She leaned back smugly.

"Nope," he moved his knight forward.

Cat lazily pushed her pawn forward a space, on the opposite end of the board, Reid moved his white bishop. She moved her bishop forward next to his Queen. He looked thoughtfully at the board and pushed the Queen diagonally backward. Cat captured his white bishop with her pawn.

"Oh," she flicked the piece off the board, "killed by a pawn. That's gotta hurt."

Reid didn't reply and instead pushed a pawn forward two spaces.

She countered by placing her white bishop diagonal to the Queen, protected by a knight. He moved the Queen a space to the side. She moved her bishop next to the Queen again, this time protected by a pawn. Next, she moved her knight, then he moved a pawn diagonal to it. She moved her knight to the side, in the position to kill the Queen. He moved it to the side carelessly.

She bit her lip and moved a pawn forward. He did the same. She killed that pawn with her bishop, moving it next to the Queen and keeping it protected by the pawn.

He stared at the board.

"Trapped?" Cat grinned, watching his eyes swerve around the board before he moved one space diagonally to his left.

She drew her knight closer, causing Reid to draw his Queen closer into the corner. She took a moment to think, then moved a pawn forward. He moved a knight. She moved a rook. He moved his King. She moved her rook. He moved his King again. She moved her knight, protected by the Queen. Reid thought for a moment, then killed the knight with his knight. Cat smirked and killed the knight with her Queen. He killed her other knight with his final knight. Cat knocked down his piece dramatically with her white bishop.

"Check," she said triumphantly.

"Uh-huh," he swept in and killed her bishop with his Queen.

Cat sighed and moved her Queen over one. He slid a pawn up the board. She protected the white pawn near it with her rook.

He stared at the board for a moment, trying to keep his delicate plan intact. Then he moved his King forward one space.

Cat placed her pawn up two space, next to his queen and protected by her Queen, causing Reid to withdraw once again into the corner.

"Why so scared?" She taunted, killing his pawn with hers.

"There's a difference between being cautious and being scared," he killed her pawn with his on the other side of the board. She killed that pawn with her rook, keeping it protected by the Queen despite the danger coming from the black bishop on her left.

Before Reid could lift his hand to reply, a loud bang startled the chess players and the kitchen window shattered. With reflexes faster than a cat, Reid dived under the table and pushed the legs of Cat's chair forward so she fell backward and narrowly avoided the bullet coming through the window.

* * *

( _For those of you who are curious, I played this chess game with my brother. I played Cat and he played Reid. In the end, I won.)_


	16. 3 am

Chapter Sixteen: 3 am

"Sorry," Reid offered an ice pack to a ruffled looking Cat, who pressed it to the side of her head irritably. The two had descended into the basement to await Adrianov's return in case another stray bullet came through the window.

Cat leaned against the concrete wall and sighed, her head aching from when Reid shoved her chair off its legs to avoid the bullet. She was grateful she wasn't dead, but she was also annoyed that she now had a giant bruise on the side of her head.

"Ah," she flinched and pulled the ice away, feeling a trickle of blood run down the side of her face.

"Here," Reid took a cloth and wetted it in paint-stained sink nearby, "let me take a look at it."

He dabbed up the blood, clearing the spot on her scalp where it was coming from.

"It's not that serious," he whispered. Their faces were dangerously close. Close enough for him to feel her hot breath mix with his.

"Um…" He looked down and took a step back, "I don't think there's much risk of us being shot at again after they've already failed. We should go upstairs and wait for Adrianov."

"Yeah," Cat seemed to snap back to reality, perhaps the head wound had made her a little dazed and knocked some sarcasm out of her, "let's do that."

* * *

The clock chimed 3 am, starting Reid out of his hazy sleep. He had dozed off in one of the armchairs, gripping his gun. Cat was curled up on the couch, hugging a small pillow tightly. Reid smiled wistfully and quietly lay a blanket that had been draped over one of the armchairs on her sleeping body.

"Hmm?" She stirred slightly.

"Shh," Reid knelt next to the couch, pushing the hair out of her face.

"Is Adrianov back yet?"

"I don't think so," Reid looked around concernedly, "I feel like we should contact someone, but I'm not sure who."

Cat groaned and pushed herself up into sitting position.

"What time is it?"

"3 am."

"Yeah, that's vaguely concerning," she yawned, offering her hands to Reid, "help me up."

He took them, pulling her off the couch. Once again, they were dangerously close.

"Don't try and seduce me while I'm sleepy Spencer, that's cheating," she bopped him on the nose and headed to the kitchen, bumping into and verbally abusing a footrest on the way there.

"I wasn't…" he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Cat flicked on the light switch and squinted at the fridge before pulling out assorted sandwich-making bits.

While Cat was making food there was a knock at the door. Reid grabbed his gun and approached it, looking through the peephole he saw someone he didn't recognize.

"Um, shit," the man muttered, "what's the damn code thingy… something… something…? _Oh yeah!_ It's really cold out and… oh, wait not that's not it… is it? Whatever, oh my god just open the door Osiris thingy."

Reid frowned, unsure of what to do.

The man groaned, pulling a badge out of his coat and pressing it up to the peephole.

Reid opened the door cautiously.

"Move, move," the man shoved him aside, closing the door quickly.

"Who are you?"

"Special agent Ellington," he distractedly looked around him, his eyes resting on Cat, who was munching apathetically on a ham sandwich.

"Adrianov is dead."

"Yeah and so was I nearly," Cat put in, mouth full of bread and ham, gesturing to the shattered window.

"Goddamn it," Ellington wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"Is our cover blown…?" Reid guided the stressed man into the kitchen and offered him a glass of water.

"No, no," he assured them, "but we've got another contender in the match. Word has spread that Cat Adams is going to be working with the Ice Elephants and, well, their rivals are none too happy about it."

"Yay," Cat plopped down next to the two of them at the table, "flattering."

Ellington stared at her. Obviously, he had expected a little more than a short girl with messy hair devouring a sandwich at 3 am.

"Yeah," he took a sip of water, "Adrianov and I were on surveillance for one of their main rivals, the Medvedev family. They assumed we were just normal government and planted a bomb in the truck in between switches. When I went back to take my turn I found the remains. I had to spend the rest of the night shaking the tail they set on me. I have no idea how they found out where you guys were held up."

Cat swallowed the last bit of her sandwich and let out a deep sigh.

"So do we need to relocate?"

"Yeah," Ellington leaned back in his chair, "immediately."


	17. Fortissimo at 2 am

Chapter Seventeen: Fortissimo at 2 am

After removing all traces of their existence from the first location, Ellington drove them several hours away in a fake taxi cab to their new base.

"Why wasn't this the first location?" Cat rolled down the car window and stared at the five-star hotel incredulously.

"It's not exactly a conspicuous place to stay, is it now?"

Cat shrugged.

"Real life isn't a spy movie kid," Ellington sighed.

"Should we pay you?" Reid reached for his wallet.

"In case someone is watching, yeah," Ellington accepted the cash with a wink, "I'll buy some lunch with this."

One of the hotel employees came out and began heaving their luggage inside. Reid opened the door and helped Cat out of the car.

"Such a gentleman," she purred.

"Why would you expect any less?"

"Maybe," she leaned in and whispered in his ear, "because of the time you put your hands around my neck and choked me."

Reid turned bright red and pulled away.

"Why do you have to say it like that…?" He muttered.

"Because it's fun to watch you squirm."

He watched Cat follow the porter into the hotel, from the slightly cracked window of the fake taxi a low chuckle could be heard.

"You've got a handful with that one," Ellington started the engine, "I can't tell if I would hate or love to be in your shoes."

Reid stuck his hands into his pockets and stared at the taxi retreating into the distance. After a few moments of contemplation, he turned around and headed toward the hotel.

* * *

"Not too shabby," Cat put down her bag, staring at the ornately decorated main room. To the side was a door which undoubtedly led to an even more ornate bedroom and bathroom.

An enormous grand piano stood near the giant glass wall overlooking the lights and movement of the city. It was the first thing that caught both their eyes.

"Can you play?" Cat asked.

"I learned a few years ago," Reid approached it and ran his fingers along the white and black keys, "after a case where we met a young autistic boy who communicated most of his thoughts through music."

"My mom taught me when I was five or six. When she died it was one of the things I did to stop myself from going insane because of my dad. Looks like that didn't work."

Reid slowly pushed down on a few keys, playing the beginning of a Chopin Nocturne. Cat seated herself in a nearby chair, watching Reid sway ever so slightly to the music. His left hand gracefully floating across the lower half of the keyboard and his right hand sang above with a slightly more accented tone, drawing in and out as the phrases started and finished.

Cat sat in silence watching for the four-minute duration of the song and, unbeknownst to Reid, a few tears formed in the corner of her eyes. She quickly wiped them away, of course – but they had been there.

When he finished she slid onto the leather piano bench next to him.

"Do you know Polonaise in E-Flat Major by Dvorak?"

"Yeah," Reid fondly remembered how he had tried to teach J.J. how to play the secondo part. Unfortunately, she had barely made it past the first few measures.

They played it through, stopping here and there to catch up or remember the correct notes, blaming each other for the mess-ups. They were at it for hours and when they finally looked at the clock again it was 2 am.

"We should probably go to bed," Reid stifled a yawn, "I'll take the couch."

"Whatever you say," Cat made an exaggerated wink.

"Sleep well," he rolled his eyes, loosening his collar and kicking off his shoes. Cat's response was a wolf whistle.

"Alright I'm going, I'm going!" She raised her hands in defense at the look he threw her, leaving him to the couch.


	18. Good Morning Russia

Chapter Eighteen: Good Morning Russia

J.J. tapped her fingers nervously on the table. Rumors had been flying left and right, little whispers in the night. She was not stupid enough to believe them, but they were still disconcerting. What kind of plan had the US government concocted that would require faking a rogue agent?

"Are we ready?" Prentiss walked in, the other members of the table replied affirmatively.

"It just doesn't feel right without Reid here," Garcia sighed, pressing a button on her controller and pulling up images of a gruesome crime. "As you can see here, someone is killing prostitutes in lower Manhattan and shaving their heads."

"Was any of the hair recovered at the scene?" Rossi looked through his file, pulling out a photo of one of the victims.

"Nope," Garcia pulled up another image, "not a single hair."

"That's odd. If his object was to get the hair, why shave it? Why not just snip off as much as possible? Shaving seems to be a lot of effort. The baldness must mean something to him."

"Maybe he has a loved one who is going through chemotherapy," Luke offered.

"Or there is some religious significance to it," Tara zoomed in on her tablet, "in some cultures, shaving your head is a sign of extreme holiness, while in others it is an act of shame, especially for women."

"We'll discuss more on the plane, wheels up in 30."

J.J. hurried up to catch Prentiss as she was leaving.

"Hey, I just wanna know if Reid's okay."

"Ah," Prentiss looked around, "J.J. I can't talk about it here, but so far as I know he is 100% safe."

J.J. nodded, not entirely convinced by her words.

* * *

"Oi, wake up," Cat poked the sleeping face of Reid.

"What time is it?" He groaned, rubbing his eyes.

"8 am, what do you want for breakfast?"

"Whatever you're having," he shoved a pillow from the couch over his face and drifted off to sleep again.

When he was next awoken it was to the smell of bacon and eggs.

"Good morning Mary Sunshine," Cat grinned at him.

"You have a funny definition of the word good," Reid drew his platter of food near him and began devouring it.

Cat watch him with interest.

"There was a phone call earlier," she said, mouth full of egg, "from what I gathered, a meeting has been arranged between the Ice Elephants and us for tonight at this address."

She slid him a paper.

"News has traveled that you've gone rogue, so they fully believe you're not working for the government. Our allies at home have played it off like they were trying to hide the fact that one of their own had gone bad, which made it very believable."

Reid stared at the paper, wondering what his team was thinking. Surely they had caught wind of these rumors.

"I'm sure they all understand." Cat read his mind, "That team of yours knows you better than you know yourself. They know what's up."

"Right," he sighed and began to eat.

After their meal, Ellington dropped by in heavy disguise to give them some more information and run through basic operations with them. He gave them very cleverly places wires but other than that, they were on their own. It was too dangerous to have a team on standby so they were to go in with no backup.

"Now remember, don't oversell it," Ellington fixed his face nose in the mirror, "have casual disdain for our government but also give the impression that you still need a little winning over. The leader, who goes by Ox, will instinctively want to prove to you how good the bad side is. Now the place you're going tonight is even more high-class than here, so dress to the nines and be as prestigious as you possibly can. Good luck."

Reid nodded, watching the man in front of him delicately re-glue his fake mustache.

"What are we to do in the meantime?"

"Read a book," Ellington sighed, grabbing his briefcase and slipping out the door.


	19. Red

Chapter Nineteen: Red

Reid looked up from his book at the clock on the wall. 9 pm, they were going to leave soon. He was already dressed in a black tux, but Cat had spent the last hour locked in the bedroom getting ready.

"Are you done yet?" He placed the book down.

The lock on the bedroom door clicked open and Cat walked out.

"Wow."

Her long scarlet dress flowed gracefully down her body, with the light bouncing off the sleek material in such a way that it seemed like she was glowing. A tasteful slit ran up the right side, stopping right before her thigh. A fur shawl was draped around her arms, promising to be a warm protection from the night air.

Reid stood up and approached her. She had never looked so beautiful before.

"Let's go," Cat slid her hand into his, dragging him toward the door, "we have a ride waiting for us."

"Yeah," he mumbled, not able to take his eyes off of her.

Obviously, Cat had not expected such a reaction from him. Reid had made it his sacred duty not to show the slightest bit of interest in her whenever possible, it was gratifying to know that her old tricks still had some spark left in them.

Even Reid had not expected such a reaction from himself. He had spent too long buried in books and hiding in his own mind, convincing himself that there was no woman who could ever match Maeve. He had thought about Cat, but his rational brain always had a billion reasons against even considering her a friend, and with Reid, the rational brain always won.

Until now.

He desperately rang the bell in his brain for the rational side to do something, but the left side must have been taking a nap, leaving his right side to do all the decision making.

His hands slipped over Cat's waist, his hesitant face stopping so close that he could feel her eyelashes on his cheek. For once, her face wasn't plastered with a sardonic smirk. She snaked her hands up around his neck, pulling in the final 10% so their lips met.

It had been far too long since Reid had last kissed someone. He stumbled slightly, unsure of where or how to stand. An electric shock seemed to run through him, filling him with some kind of strange energy.

He didn't know how long it lasted, but when it ended he was sure it was far too short.

"Wow," Cat gasped, her arms still linked around his neck. She felt his hot breath on her face. For the first time in a long time, she was at a loss for words. No sassy remark surfaced, no sarcastic question came to mind – she had been thinking about doing that for longer than she cared to admit.

Suddenly, Reid's rational brain came sprinting back into action. He pulled away abruptly.

"We should go," Reid looked down and rubbed the back of his neck, "we don't want to be late."

"Alright then," Cat bit her lip and opened the door.

The ride there was silent, Reid had to take the full time to recalibrate himself in order to face what he was going to have to face. He was far from clueless when it came to dealing with criminals and manipulating psychopaths, but he was utterly hopeless with women. Maybe there was a Ph.D. he could get in that…

 _"It was only a stupid spur of the moment thing, you don't actually have feelings for her,"_ a little voice in the back of his mind whispered.

Cat glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

 _"It was only a stupid spur of the moment thing, he doesn't actually have feelings for you,"_ a little voice in the back of her mind sneered.

"You're here," the driver announced, gesturing to the ridiculously fancy bar in front of them.

Reid thanked the driver and helped Cat out of the car, trying not to step on the edge of her dress.

The harsh night air filled his lungs, it was an unpleasant feeling. In fact, everything was feeling very unpleasant. He brushed off his misgivings and reminded himself that he had walked into the most dangerous situations before to negotiate with crazy murderers and come out alive.

"Names?" The giant burly man in front of the doorway inquired in Russian.

"Spencer Reid and Cat Adams."

The man nodded knowingly and stepped aside, Cat linked her arm into his. Reid could hear her take a deep breath and could practically feel her entire energy change to the domineering tigress he had met in the restaurant a few years ago. Her confidence was very reassuring, so reassuring that he felt himself adopting the same attitude. He remembered what Ellington had said – _don't oversell it, but show disdain for your previous line of work._

A young man in a white suit approached and gestured for them to follow him. He led them through a doorway into a private booth, where they found themselves alone with two people.

The first was a stunningly beautiful woman. She was a 30-35-year-old woman, her long, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, complimenting her almost unrealistically blue eyes well. The second was seated beside her. He was a younger man with brown, tousled hair and thin, round glasses perched on his nose. His eyes immediately went to Cat when the two entered.

"Anything else ma'am?" The man in the white suit asked.

"No, that'll be all Adrian," she smiled. He nodded and left the room. "Please, have a seat," she continued, gesturing to the two empty spots around their table.

"This is my brother, Misha. He helps me. I, as you know, am Agata Pavel, the leader of the Ice Elephants."

Reid had practically memorized this woman's file. What was hidden under her harmless exterior was an impressive track record of everything from petty theft to paid assassination of a foreign diplomat. 15 times the US government had attempted to kill either her or her brother, and all 15 times they failed miserably. Now, they were attempting a very different strategy.

"Oh yes," Cat extended her hand to her, "a pleasure to meet you at last."


	20. Truth and Revelation

Chapter Twenty: Truth and Revelation

"You already know the basics here, so I'll get to the point. I just wasted a few valuable years of my life locked up and after a few delicately placed pieces of blackmail and murder, I managed to escape. I want those bastards to suffer for what they put me through and luckily enough," Cat gestured to Reid, "so does one of their Agents."

Misha eyed him suspiciously.

"I've spent nearly ten years working for the BAU," Reid leaned back in his chair, "ten years in the same position. Ten years on the same salary. Ten years doing the most work I possibly could because I believed it was right. Until I found out that the people I thought were my friends were not. One year in prison erased ten years of hard work. I'm sick of it. They gave me security clearances and information and then dropped me like a bad penny. So here I am. Teaching them to be a little more careful who they mess with."

"That's an interesting proposition," Agata swirled her drink thoughtfully.

"And what do you say?" Cat inquired, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. Agata peered up at her, meeting her equally piercing gaze. The two were tigresses, born of bad pasts and ingrained with an inherent distrust of humanity. Cat knew what kind of woman was in front of her – and what was more important was that she had a real respect for what she had accomplished.

If you get past the fact that it was all highly immoral and illegal, Agata Pavel had carved a path through what was a male-dominated industry and has risen to the very top. Even though what she did was horrible, there was no denying it was impressive.

"I have to admit, when I first heard what you were planning on offering me, I didn't believe it. But then I looked a little further…" she turned to Reid, "that was quite the little stunt you pulled in prison. Even I am marginally impressed."

Reid couldn't help but falter away. But it didn't seem to faze her. In fact, it probably helped convince. As Ellington said, _don't oversell it._

"Now, now, you're in favorable company. You don't need to deny deny deny like you had to with your law-abiding friends at the FBI. Prison's a different place. Some men lose themselves and some find themselves."

Misha had not said a word the entire time. His dark eyes had been moving between the two people sitting in front of him. It was obvious that he was the introvert and Agata was the extrovert. He seemed to be collecting as much information as he could, analyzing every expression and listening to the tone of their words. And he didn't look convinced.

Cat could sense the cold air coming from Misha's direction. She knew that there was no way his sister would make a decision without his approval.

"What do you think?"

Misha stared at her silently for a minute, thinking about his response.

"I think it's very likely that you are now a pawn of the US government and that the "rogue" agent sitting next to you is the moderator sent to make sure you don't deviate from your mission."

Cat stared at him, a small smile spreading across her face.

"Yeah, you're right." She pulled the small com out of her ear and dropped it in the champagne glass. Reid nearly choked.

"C'mon Reid, "cover's blown" as they say."

He dropped his com into the champagne and blindly followed Cat's lead.

"To be honest with you, I knew there was no chance in hell I was going to make it out of that prison. What better way to get clear out of the government's grasp than to slip right under their nose and into Russia?"

Misha raised his eyebrows, still not saying anything. Agata looked almost proud.

"And this… Reid?"

"Oh, you can do whatever you want with him," Cat sighed, "I'm sure he's got a lot of useful information or whatever. Anyhow, the old offer still stands. Only now I'm a little more in need because I've got the government on my ass as of 50 seconds ago."

Agata let out a laugh, nudging her brother, who looked slightly amused himself.

"I'd heard a lot about you, but I didn't know you were this good!" She raised her glass, "I'll take you and the agent. Cheers!"

"I'd toast but there's an intercom in my champagne."

"Ahh, bring more champagne!" Agata shouted. Adrian peered in with a few glasses and a bottle under his arm.

"I suppose you'll be needing a place to stay now that you've just made an enemy of an entire country…" Misha stroked his neatly-groomed beard thoughtfully.

"Yes, probably," Cat replied, "don't you think Spence?"

Reid looked practically sick.

"Oh, he's going to need a little time."

"Then it's settled!" Agata cheered, ruffling Misha's composure a bit, "you can stay at our building in Moscow!"

* * *

 _Sorry I'm taking so long to update... I'm playing with some plot ideas and it's kinda hard to be consistent with sChOoL haunting my every move._


	21. Parting of Ways

Chapter Twenty-One: Parting of Ways

"What the hell was that?!" Reid shouted, not caring who could hear him.

"Shhh," Cat rolled her eyes, "it was only a little improvising."

" _That_ is not improvising!" He hushed himself slightly, "That's insanity!"

"Oh don't be such a baby. We got what we wanted, didn't we?"

Reid stared at her, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

"C'mon," Cat whined, "don't be such a wet blanket."

"I never should have trusted you," he pinched the bridge of his nose, anger welling up inside him like molten lava. Cat tried to keep the mood light, but the glare she received made her stomach churn. She had hoped Reid would understand her side of things. She couldn't stay being the good guy forever. That just wasn't her. Surely a smart man like him understood that.

She bit her lip, glancing about them anxiously. After they had left the meeting with Agata and Misha, they had been given a location to meet a chauffeur at. He was to drive them to the Pavel building in Moscow. In the meantime, they were to wait in a cold, dark alleyway behind some giant nameless buildings. The only source of light on the whole street was a single lamppost at the very end. A light drizzle of rain made soft pitter-patter sounds, mimicking footsteps.

"I didn't really think you ever trusted me," she muttered bitterly. Reid looked up sharply.

"You're right," he took a few steps away, "I never trusted you. But for a little bit there, I was stupid enough to consider it."

Normally at this point Cat would've lunged at him – if she'd had a gun, she probably would have shot him. But instead, her arms felt heavy and useless at her side as she watched Reid disappear into the distance, the sound of his footsteps mixing with the ambiance of the rain. Instead of feeling free from the shackles which had bound her for so long, she felt like she was being abandoned.

 _"Spencer,"_ she called after his retreating figure in a breathy whisper. She never intended for him to hear it, and he didn't.

Cat Adams never cried. She just got really angry.

She stamped her foot on the ground and crossed her arms like an angry child. Her face screwed up as she tried to hold it in, but she soon felt hot, uncomfortable salt water on her cheeks.

"NO!" She screeched, aiming a kick at a nearby trashcan. "AGHH!"

She took a deep breath, wiping her face and trying to ground herself again. She wasn't some small baby. She wasn't going to throw a temper tantrum.

She was free. She'd done it. She'd won. She outsmarted Reid and she outsmarted the entire government, and now she was safe in Russia, ready to wreak havoc.

* * *

As Reid rounded the corner he became suddenly aware of how exposed he was. The Ice Elephants had spies all around the country, what were the chances that one would try to attack him, defenseless as he was?

He turned up his jacket collar and look down, avoiding the eyes of any stragglers passing by. He continued in this manner for a good hour or so, trying to find his way to back to his hotel.

He thought of how badly he had just screwed up, trying to imagine how Ellington was going to react. He had let himself be guided through the situation by Cat, who had blown their cover and switched sides.

"Hello there, mate."

A British accent awoke Reid from his reverie. He turned cautiously.

A lanky looking man, around 25-30, was leaning against the side of one of the buildings.

"Do I know you?"

"Well I hope not," he chuckled, "I'm a secret spy, if you knew me I wouldn't be doing my job right. Name's Richie – at least for the purpose of this conversation it is."

"What do you want?"

"To help you out," he tapped the side of his head knowingly, "word travels like lightning around here. You and that Adams girl have run into a wee bit of a tiff now, haven't ya?"

"I suppose you could put it like that."

"Well," Richie glanced around and tossed a gun to Reid, who caught it expertly, "here's a little extra helper, so we can talk on equal terms."

Reid looked at him, still not convinced.

"Well, what else have you got, lad? Follow me and I'll help you sort out this mess. Or, you could go back to that fella Ellington who will write you up for messin' up his mission and everything."

"How do you know so much about me?"

Richie let out another chuckle.

"You think the FBI can get ahold of a problem solving genius without a few others knowing too? There are people that smart organizations will keep an eye on, and you, Spencer Reid, are one of those people."

Reid weighed his options. To walk away and try to make it back to his hotel alive, where he would have to face the consequences of Cat's actions, was hardly an appealing idea. On the other hand, a completely unknown man had just thrown him a gun and offered assistance – it would be a completely dangerous and stupidly risky thing to believe him.

"Alright, lead the way."

Richie bowed dramatically and opened the door of the building he had been leaning on.

"I do business nearby, for convenience."


	22. The Honey Trap

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Honey Trap

Cat crossed her arms, her eyelids feeling heavy and her mind full of buzzing thoughts. She had no idea what she was going to do now. She'd lost Reid, her most valuable insurance policy, and now she was going to have to deal with the most dangerous group of criminals currently in the game. She was desperately out of practice, besides Mexico, she had been inactive for a whole year – and a lot changes in a year. The truth was that she was useless to the Ice Elephants as anything other than a helpful assassin. She couldn't offer them any information that was imperative to their nefarious schemes, not now that Reid was gone.

But who was to stop her from doing the same thing, who was to stop her from just running? For now, she was alone and probably unwatched. She could just slide away and disappear off the face of the universe for a while.

Making up her mind, she turned abruptly, only to find herself face-to-face with Misha Pavel.

"Going somewhere?" He asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

Cat had already made a perfect assessment of his character when they had first met – he was the kind of man who could see straight through a lie. Maybe not all lies, but most lies, so it was better to play on the truth than to try to outsmart him.

"Maybe. I've just been ditched like an ugly prom date, so y'know, I don't have much left to offer you guys."

"Ah," Misha fixed his glasses, "I had hoped you were more in control of this Agent Reid, but regardless, even without your FBI friend, who my contacts will surely find wandering the streets somewhere, you can be of great use. Your talents from before the US government scooped you up can surely be of help. You won't be a right-hand man or anything, but you won't be useless."

Cat was ruffled by his careless attitude. She, Cat Adams, one of the most wanted criminals of this decade, was being condescended to like some sort of pick-pocket?

"I don't really think being an underling is really my style." She smiled sourly.

"Really?" Misha's eyes narrowed, "Because you're the one who willingly walked into my view and offered my sister and I a fake deal which, if we had been dumb enough to accept, would have meant our ruin. You're not exactly in a position to be making deals, especially considering we're in an alleyway together at night and I'm the one with a gun."

Cat felt her face growing hot with frustration and bit her cheeks, trying to control her facial expressions. She was so _sick_ of not having the upper hand.

Her silence seemed to be an answer enough for Misha, who let a small smirk pass over his face.

"Follow me then," he began walking down the street, his footsteps echoing through the silent alleyway.

* * *

When Reid slid through the door behind Richie, he found himself in a large room full of boxes and tables, like some sort of storage facility.

"What now?"

"Well, now we figure out how to take down the Ice Elephants."

Reid let out a sigh and seated himself on a nearby crate.

"Now, now, don't be such a defeatist. Besides, you've just given them a nuclear weapon, so we've got to clean up this mess so the US government doesn't disown you."

Reid didn't reply, he had been pumping adrenaline for too long and now he had a splitting headache. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus his distracted thoughts.

"Aye, take some ibuprofen mate," Richie fiddled through a cabinet and tossed him a bottle.

"It's expired," Reid commented, looking at the date.

"Still works though."

Reid was too tired to debate him, besides he was right, it was just a little less effective.

"So here's the deal," Richie continued, seating himself on another crate, "Agata Pavel might be the face of the group, but it's really her brother Misha who runs everything behind the scenes. He's honestly one of the most dangerous geniuses of this century. The man is a true Machiavellian, he only cares about himself. I swear he'd sacrifice his own sister if she wasn't beneficial for him. That's our way in."

"What do you mean?"

"Cat Adams is exactly the same kind of personality. She's already in, because I doubt she'd give up this opportunity, so we need to figure out how to communicate to her. She can destroy the entire operation by taking down Misha."

"Are you proposing that Cat try to do the honey trap? Have you met the woman?"

"Yes I am, and no I haven't," Richie continued assuredly, "but every straight man has a weakness, and that weakness is named woman. A dumb mark takes some batting of eyes and a vapid promise of sex, a smart mark takes some batting of eyes and a vapid promise of intellectually stimulating conversation from someone who will finally understand them."

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Reid could see where Richie was coming from. The only real problem was whether or not they could get Cat to actually do it, or if they could even manage to get in contact with her.

He remembered how Prentiss had done the same thing with Ian Doyle, and how badly that had ended for her.

"I'm not so sure about this… I mean, how are we even going to communicate with her?"

"Simple. Undoubtedly they'll be at their building in Moscow. We'll linger and stalk until we get her alone."

"But they know my face."

"And they know mine. That's why I have friends."

"What do you mean they know yours?" Reid's eyes narrowed.

"That's a long story…"

"It's a story that you should probably tell me," Reid raised the gun that Richie had given him.

"Don't be an idiot, do you really think I'd give you a loaded gun?"

He fired the gun at Richie's leg. It made a small clicking noise, informing him that it was empty.

"Okay, considering I might have been bluffing, I'm pretty insulted that you just fired it at me anyway. Don't point guns at me, loaded or not loaded." Richie sighed, "It's not that important, and I'm not going to tell you. At this point, I'm all you've got, so you have to trust me."

"I met you like 10 minutes ago!"

"And? You know my name, I seem to be friendly, and I'm helping you. Learn to recognize a good thing when you see it."

Reid groaned, his head still pounding in spite of the ibuprofen.

"Give me some bullets for this gun, then we can talk some more."


	23. Hotel Moscow

Chapter Twenty-Three: Hotel Moscow

Cat followed behind Misha reluctantly. He didn't even bother to look back to make sure she was there, he simply walked to a black sedan parked nearby and opened the door.

She slid in, not making eye contact with Misha. He seated himself in the driver's seat and soon they were rolling down the dark road. After what seemed to be hours, they stopped in front of a large hotel.

"This is our building," Misha gestured to the impressively tall work of architecture.

Cat didn't feel like speaking, she only nodded and followed Misha through some rooms and stairwells until they stopped at room 402.

He knocked three times sharply, then four times, and then three again. After a brief interlude the door cracked open.

"Who is it?"

"Misha, I am here with the Adams girl."

The door opened just enough for them to enter, and when they did Cat quickly drank in the scene around her. It was an incredibly expensive looking room – gold trimmings on the ceilings and Roman-style sculptors on the furniture; but she hardly had any time to appreciate the beauty before Agata spoke.

"Where is that Agent you were with?" She smiled, obviously a little displeased. Misha peered amusedly at Cat, not bothering to help her in her explanation.

"Well…" She began, "he saw things a little differently than me and there was really nothing I could do to stop him."

"So, the whole story that was rumored of you seducing him over to the dark side are untrue?"

"Pretty much. It was made up by the NSA to convince you guys to let an Agent onboard."

Agata pursed her lips, trying not to show any anger.

"I see. So what exactly do you have to offer us now?"

Misha saw his opening and swooped in like an eagle.

"I think she could be of use simply with her previous expertise in assassination. We can talk more about it privately, but I think she could be an asset to us."

Agata still seemed annoyed at Cat, her brother's words only working to soothe her momentarily.

"We shall see," she said sourly, "until then, you will stay here under our watch. Room 403, right down the hall."

Cat was hardly ever out of her element, but at this point, she was pretty sure she was out of her element. This was a whole other realm of the criminal world that she had never delved into. The less she said, the better things would turn out for her.

So, she simply nodded, waiting to be directed somewhere where she could finally be alone.

As if appearing out of nowhere, some henchmen in suits came to lead her to the next room, locking the door from the outside. Cat realized that she had escaped prison only to be thrown right back in, only this time it was better decorated and in Russia.

She leaned against the wall, sliding down into sitting position, her head resting on her knees. She was tired – no, she was _exhausted._ Exhausted and scared. Reid had left her, which she didn't blame him for. She had gone off script and screwed up the entire mission. Now, there was a battle going on in her mind. Should she just give in and join the dark side again, or should she try to destroy the Ice Elephants from within?

Agh, if only she could talk to Reid. One man on the outside, one on the inside. It was perfect.

If he was still alive, that is.

* * *

"There it is," Richie itched his prosthetic nose, subtly nodding his head in the direction of a large hotel in the distance, "can't get too near, even with our terrible disguises, someone is bound to notice us. That's what Maria is for. We've been working together for months and she's finally been cleared for a job changing sheets at the hotel. Their security is insane since everyone is always trying to assassinate them."

Reid had given up trying to extract who Richie worked for. He assumed Interpol, but something about him seemed to say lone-wolf. Perhaps ex-Interpol who kept their ear to the ground? Either way, he was extremely helpful.

The morning air was fresh and cold, waking Reid up more than the coffee in his hand. He and Richie were placed inconspicuously outside a café, hidden behind slightly convincing disguises and awaiting the results of Maria's sleuth work. They had no idea when she would arrive, since break times given to employees were randomly assigned each morning to prevent outside attacks from being well organized.

So, they had to wait all day.

Meanwhile, inside, Maria was trying her best to figure out where her target was staying. Luckily for her, the staff were prone to gossip, so soon not only did she know that room 403 was her destination, but also that room 307 and 309 were often spending the night in 309's place, but that 307 and 301 were engaged.

At about 3 pm, armed with towels, new soaps, new sheets, and more, Maria left 402, Agata Pavel's empty room, and turned to 403, in front of which two men stood.

"Room service," she faked her most disinterested voice, convincing the guards that she wanted to be there just as much as they did. The one on the right nodded curtly and unlocked the door.

When she entered, it looked like a completely empty room.

"Room service!" She announced loudly, preparing to go about all the usual tasks expected of her. The door closed behind her and she heard the lock click. Cat peered her head around the corner of the bedroom door.

"Miss Adams?" Maria spoke in a hushed whisper, gesturing for her to come closer.

Knowing they probably monitored the rooms in some way, Maria began to communicate as best she could without sounding too suspicious.

"Do you have any friends around here?" She discreetly pulled Reid's FBI badge out of her pocket to inform her whose side she was on.

"Only one, I guess," Cat replied, "what's a person to do, anyway?"

"You spilled honey on these napkins," Maria picked up a nearby piece of cloth, emphasizing the word honey. Cat's mind raced as she recalled all the cons she knew. Honey trap.

 _"Honey trap, Misha?"_ She mouthed, covering her face almost completely with her long hair. Maria nodded.


	24. Unsuspecting Allies

Chapter Twenty-Four: Unsuspecting Allies

Of all the commonly known cons to run, The Honey Trap is perhaps the most widely practiced. There is something extremely universal about tricking someone into trusting you with the promise of romance. The Honey Trap is a confidence-trick in its purest form. Gain trust, then use it to your advantage.

It is also one of the hardest to pull off.

Cat knew this very well. It was something she had hardly ever used – she had always seen it as something below her. She could usually win without using something as base and human as love to trick her mark, but at the moment, she was out of options, and apparently, Reid was alive and well and had a plan.

She wondered at his sudden trust in her. When he had left her in the alleyway he had voiced a very negative opinion about her, but now he was trusting her not to immediately run to the Pavel's with this information.

But Reid knew her well, and he was smart enough to know she was in a tight place and couldn't manage on her own. Besides, he was undoubtedly out of options himself… but wait, how did he get this woman to help him? Didn't the Pavel's have an extremely strict security system on their staff? In order to get someone on the inside Reid would've had to been working on this for months – and Cat highly doubted he was using the resources of the American government.

No, Reid had found an ally. Someone unaffiliated with any government who was willing to help. She went through all the possibilities in her mind. Who would be in Russia now, with the competence to help pull something like this off, and who most probably worked alone since Reid would never let himself be outnumbered by people he didn't know.

Carl Kingsburg? No, he was out of the game since the affair in Tibet.

Margarete Finn? No, she was currently running a stint in France.

Alexandria Maxwell? Maybe… oh, wait, no, she had turned white knight and started working with Interpol.

Maybe she didn't know who it was. Cat groaned and checked the time, 2 pm. She'd been stuck in the room all day waiting for someone other than room service to come in.

Meanwhile, at the café across the street, Reid and Richie watched the figure of Maria approaching. They hid their reactions but were very relieved that there was finally an answer.

Maria slid into the seat next to them.

"She's in," she grabbed a scone off Richie's plate, munching on it in a self-satisfied manner. Richie looked at his lost treat mournfully and took a sip of coffee.

"Great, now we wait."

"What do you mean?" Reid asked.

"Well, we can't really do much from the outside, now can we? Just sit back and wait for this Adams girl to work her black magic."

"I suppose you're right," Reid sighed, "but I hope she's quick. I doubt my government is gonna let us gallivant around Russia for much longer."

Richie scoffed.

"I doubt your government could do much about it anyway. Their abilities to competently do anything outside of their own country are marginal at best. No offense, but you're currently a refugee from your own country until you can clear things up, so if things don't get cleared up, I'd go about building up a good animosity toward them."

Reid drank his coffee, not replying to Richie's commentary. He missed home. He missed his mom. He missed J.J. He missed Prentiss. He missed Garcia. He missed everyone. Why did he have to take this risk and run off to Russia with a crazy criminal who had tried to kill him?

Richie watched his face, deciphering what the young man was thinking.

"I'm sure it'll turn out fine. If you trust this Adams girl to do her job, then you'll have successfully taken down one of the biggest mob groups in the world. Even if you practically betrayed your country and broke all the rules, things will turn out fine in the end."

Maria's eyes darted between the two of them before she heaved a sigh and got up.

"I have to fake Maria Sett's death, was nice knowing you, Richie."

Richie saluted her with a smile. "We shall remember you well."

* * *

Prentiss tapped her foot nervously under the desk. It had been nearly three days since they had lost communication with Reid and Cat. She was in a hell of a lot of hot water right now. She had given her word that Reid would be able to control the situation, but now they had absolutely no idea where either of them were.

She was in a scif, waiting to be yelled at by another NSA person or CIA or even FBI. Even if the project had gone through hundreds of hands and been debated and cleared, she was being blamed for everything. What had she gotten Reid into? If only there was some way she could communicate with either one of them. Some way to confirm that things were back on track.

"Agent Prentiss," a solemn-looking man entered. Prentiss braced herself for the tirade of insults and accusations.

"Yes?"

"I have some news concerning Agent Reid."

Prentiss sighed a breath of relief, but then realized that the news might be bad.

"What is it?"

"He was seen yesterday at a café in Moscow," the man handed her a file full of images. Reid was seated next to a man and a woman, the woman's back was facing the camera, but it didn't look like Cat. Reid was wearing a disguise that would have easily worked on someone who didn't know him that well, but Prentiss knew that face anywhere. It was Reid.

"Who are the other people?"

"That is what I'm here to talk to you about," he took a seat across from her, handing her another file.

"Dante Woods, ex-Interpol. He went rogue a few years ago and began loaning his talents to groups and people that would pay a lot more for them than Interpol did. He is one of the brightest minds of our generation, and also considerably dangerous. He has endless sources and seems constantly aware of everything that's going on. If he is helping Reid, then we will probably see the Ice Elephants fall very soon."

"So it's a good thing?" Prentiss raised her eyebrows.

"I think so, but a majority of the board does not. They do not trust him, they think he is an outsider who will mess things up. As if that _Ellington_ they set on this case didn't already mess things up," the man scoffed.

"I'm sorry, but who exactly are you?"

"You don't necessarily need to know that, but I am in a position to hold off the unbelievers to give Agent Reid some time to fix this mess. Dante Woods is probably going under the alias Richie Green at the moment, that's one of his preferred."

Prentiss narrowed her eyes, unsure of whether to trust him.

"You don't have to trust me," he smiled, "I'll help you either way."


	25. Another Unusual Offer and An Explanation

Chapter Twenty-Five: Another Unusual Offer and An Explanation

 _She was back in her cell. The only light illuminating the dreadfully familiar dark walls was a singular flickering bulb dangling from the ceiling. She cowered in the corner, almost fearing the bright circle it cast on the ground. The door slid open loudly and a shadowy silhouette entered._

 _"Hi, Cat."_

 _"Reid?"_

 _"Just wanted to see you before the execution."_

 _Cat's stomach churned. Execution?_

 _"What?"_

 _Reid let out a hollow laugh._

 _"They didn't tell you?"_

Cat nearly jumped off the couch as she awoke, becoming aware that the sound of the door swinging open had raised her from the terrible nightmare. The light clicked on and she saw Misha Pavel lounging in the doorway.

"Put these on and follow me," he sauntered over and handed her a lump of clothes. She hadn't had the opportunity to change since the night she and Reid had met them at the hotel.

With her mind racing with all the possible things Misha could be up to, she fumbled up off the couch and into the bathroom. When she flicked on the light it nearly blinded her, just as harsh as the lightbulb in the dream she had just had. She examined her tired looking face in the mirror. Her day old makeup was only slightly smeared, but it was not sufficient to cover the dark circles that had formed under her eyes. She quickly changed into the jeans, tennis shoes, tee shirt, and sweatshirt she had been given, sliding the hood over her face as to avoid being recognized. They were too big, but it was better and far more inconspicuous than a bright red dress.

When she opened the door she found Misha had been standing directly outside it. He was holding a bag of fast-food and Cat suddenly realized how hungry she was.

"Eat this, and let's go," he handed her the bag and turned on his heel, leading her out the door.

Cat followed in silence as they walked briskly through the hotel, out the door, and down the wet streets. She munched on the sandwich gratefully. At this point, Cat was letting things go in whatever direction they wanted to. She was just going to improvise.

Finally, after what felt like hours of seemingly aimless walking, Misha stopped abruptly under the awning of a run-down bar.

"I need you to kill my sister."

Cat blinked.

"What?"

"Was that unclear?"

She blinked again.

"Why?"

"Why does it matter?"

Cat saw an opportunity to do as she had been told by Reid.

"It's not a crime to wonder. You're interesting, I'd like to know your reasons."

Misha smirked, almost rolling his eyes.

"She's a nuisance. She has no idea how to run the business and is responsible for stupid deals like the one she tried to make with you and Agent Reid. Turns out it was a blessing in disguise because now I have you to take her out."

Cat tilted her head to the sideways, analyzing his face. Was this some sort of plot to test her loyalty? Would agreeing result in her death, or would refusing?

"I'll make it simpler for you then," he sighed and glided his hand around her waist, locking her into position. She heard the click of a gun and felt it pressed against her stomach. "Yes or no?"

"Well I'd be pretty stupid if I said no, wouldn't I?" She stared him right in the eyes, watching his pupils carefully. She noticed that they were large, not dilated – something that shows attraction… or dim light. And since the lights were rather low, she couldn't really tell which it was.

"You would. Good thing you aren't."

He released his grip on her and un-cocked the gun.

"What's the plan?"

"I'll arrange it so she's alone at a time where you can kill her however you please. It doesn't matter if it gets traced back to you, instead, we will play it that her bad judgment, aka making a deal with you and Reid, resulted in her death. It will all tie up into a nice bow."

"Fine, I guess," Cat shrugged, "where do I go after this?"

"Anywhere you want. I don't think you're the kind to be much of an issue. I doubt your FBI boyfriend is going to take you back, and you're probably far too proud to ask."

Cat bit her lip, trying to suppress the response she wanted to say.

"Glad that we're in agreement," he smiled and began walking away as briskly as he had come. Cat stared after him a bit before hurrying to catch up.

* * *

"We need to talk."

Prentiss sighed.

"J.J. I can't talk about anything."

"I think you can," she stopped her in her tracks. The two were at the BAU headquarters, preparing for another case.

Prentiss looked around, trying to bide time to come up with some excuse.

"No," J.J. said before she could respond, "After what I've seen on the news, no. I'm not an idiot. I know it's fake. I've been involved in these kinds of things before, I have the security clearance to hear it!"

Her eyes were visibly puffy and her hands seemed to be shaky.

"Is he dead?"

"No!" Prentiss exclaimed quickly, "no, he's alive."

"Oh thank God," she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Come with me," Prentiss grabbed her arm and dragged her down the halls. Eventually, they were in a scif.

"Do you remember Cat Adams?"

"Yes. The story that I've heard is she broke out and he has run off with her. I _know_ that's not true."

"Well, she's been working with the NSA on a secret project where they repurpose intelligent criminals to work on extremely difficult missions. They're like informants, but even more hands-on. Basically, they train them to become agents."

J.J.'s eyes widened and her face drained of its color.

"So he's on a mission with that woman?"

"Yes," Prentiss shuffled in her seat uncomfortably, not wanting to say the next thing, "but the day before yesterday we lost contact with them after what sounded like Cat blowing their cover."

J.J. gripped the edge of her chair, her knuckles white.

"What was the mission?" She asked through her teeth.

"Infiltration of the Ice Elephants from their base in Russia."

She let out a groan, sinking back into her chair.

"However," Prentiss hastily continued, "after a day of silence, he resurfaced in a security photo with a man known as Dante Woods. They were sitting in a café all day in various disguises and were eventually joined by a woman. After she sat with them for a little, they all left. We haven't seen or heard from him since."

"Who is Dante Woods?"

"An extremely dangerous ex-Interpol agent. I have from reliable sources that this apparent partnership is a good thing. If Dante has chosen to help Reid, the mission will probably reach its end goal, even if the process was unorthodox."

J.J. went silent and rested her head on her hands. Prentiss stared at her, trying to decipher her expression. Prentiss and J.J. had formed an inseparable bond in the years that they had worked together. She knew how much Reid meant to her, but there was nothing she could do. He was somewhere in Russia, trying to get the job done. She hoped and prayed that Cat had not joined the Ice Elephants. Her job and many other people's jobs would be on the line. Not to mention, they would have the most dangerous ally they could get.

"Is there anything we can do?" J.J. finally asked.

"No. We just have to wait."

* * *

 _ **Nota Bene:**_ _I'm sooo sorry for the long delay in posting. I have been drowning in competitions and school and I have been trying to work out some stuff with the plot. Here's a chapter though! I intend to write a lot more as summer comes around._


	26. So Here's The Plan

Chapter Twenty-Six: So Here's The Plan

Richie pushed a ceramic mug of coffee toward Reid from across the table, the sound of it scraping on the wood surface echoed throughout the boxed-filled warehouse.

"Is this really the only place we can stay?" Reid lifted the cup and blew at the steam, following it with his eyes as it disappeared into the air.

"I forgot you're FBI," Richie snorted, "always flying around in private jets and shit. We can't stay anywhere nice because nice means money, security cameras, and people. And that means getting caught. Life as a fugitive isn't nearly as fun as the movies make it out to be."

Reid sighed and took a long drink of his coffee. Richie made his coffee black, which Reid hated. He preferred a mountain of sugar and cream. But he hadn't had anything to eat or drink for a while, so even black coffee was good at this point.

"So here's the plan – I know a guy who –"

"When plans start off with "I know a guy" they're usually extremely sketchy," Reid commented.

"Hey, this guy isn't – okay well yeah, he's sketchy. But still. His name is Dorian, we've done, um, _business_ together."

Reid raised his eyebrows.

"Hey! Don't stare at me like that. Do I look like I make an honest living? Anyhow. He knows some things that will be able to help us, and I think he's our way in. Plus, he owes me one… or five."

"How do you mean?"

"So, we've got the Adams girl on the inside manipulating Misha, right? But how are we going to deal with Agata? There's only one way to make sure the whole operation falls apart. Convince Misha to kill his sister."

Reid choked on his coffee.

"What?"

"Hear me out," Richie leaned forward energetically, "so, Misha _hates_ bad business above all else, and honestly what's worse business than working with Dorian? The man is bonkers. We need to convince Misha that his sister is making deals with Dorian behind his back to the point that he tries to pull her out of the equation."

"Won't that all fall apart the moment he asks her?"

"Well, we just have to also convince him that she's trying to hide it so hard that even if he asked, she would deny it."

Reid squinted at the man sitting across from him. His eyes were sparkling with some kind of manic joy. He obviously loved this sort of vigilante scheming.

"When do we meet this guy?"

"Any minute now."

"You told him to come even when I hadn't agreed yet?"

"What other choice do you have?" He shrugged.

As he finished, a loud knock resounded throughout the warehouse. Richie sipped his mug, waiting a few seconds. Another came. Then another. Then three short ones.

"That's him," Richie hopped up, "haven't seen this old bugger in ages. C'mon."

Reid followed him to the large door and watched as he slid it open slightly, holding a gun just behind it.

"Hello, old chap!" He exclaimed upon seeing it was, in fact, who he expected, "Come on in!"

A short, overweight, middle-aged man entered. Within a split second, Reid recognized that face.

"Dorian Orval?"

"Yeah, how do ya know me, kid? I ain't eva' seen you before."

"I know Cat Adams."

His face paled.

"Listen! Hey! If that Adams girl is involved I don't want any part in this!" He began backing away but Richie slammed the door shut.

"Oi, don't go bailing on my now. Remember Pakistan? You owe me."

Dorian cowered in the corner, his eyes switching from Reid to Richie.

"Waddya want from me?"

"You know Agata Pavel?"

"I know _of_ her. Once saw her in a bar."

"That's all I need. I need you to be seen with her a few times. Maybe talk to her. Ask her how the weather is, or the time, I don't care."

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows, utterly confused.

"You don't have to understand it, stupid. In fact, the less you do, the better it is for you."

"How much are you paying me?"

"I'll make it 10k. No more, no less."

He frowned.

"Dorian I will kick your guts in."

"10k is wonderful!"

"Great. Now come here, Reid and I have a few more things we'd like to talk about. I know how good you are with computers."

Richie practically grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him to a little room off the side of the warehouse where a computer was set up. Reid smiled fondly at the memory of Garcia's setup. This one could've used a little more fluffy animals and bright furry pens. Richie pushed Dorian into the chair and tapped the keys, awakening it from its slumber.

"Hack into every computer webcam, security camera, and etc. in their hotel. I know you know how. Ever since that little scandal in France."

"I thought we'd forgotten about that," he muttered.

"I didn't forget about it, he was my _boyfriend_."

Reid grunted loudly.

"Oh yeah, sorry," Richie turned to him, "he's a bit of a rat, but the best I could get on short notice."

"I'm literally _right here!"_ Dorian shouted indignantly.

"Shut up you rat," Richie turned back around to face him, "and hurry up."

"Jeez, it's gonna take a while. There's a lot of webcams and cameras online. What am I looking for?"

"It's a long shot, but hopefully Cat Adams seated in front of a computer we can take control of."

Reid realized his plan.

"That's brilliant," he muttered.

"Oh, I know," Richie winked.


	27. Computer Games

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Computer Games

After he dropped that bomb of a revelation on her, Misha had dumped Cat in a small room with a woman named Mara. She didn't talk much, and therefore made a lousy companion. Their job was to sift through security footage and news articles for anything that could possibly harm the safety of the Ice Elephants. Cat had done this kind of thing before, of course. How else would she have avoided detection all those years? However, she had made what she considered significant improvements to the system, and instead of actually doing manual labor she had set an algorithm running and was playing online solitaire.

She clicked on the deck, drawing another card. As she went to click again, a pop-up appeared under her mouse, making her click the accept button instead of the deck of cards.

"Ohhh no. No, no, no," she muttered. Had she really just given this computer a virus playing solitaire? What a way to die: giving the Russian Mob's computer a virus by playing online games on it.

She waited, her mouse hovering over the virtual cards.

A small chat dialogue appeared on the screen.

 _Freud: Alfa Lima Oscar November Echo?_

Cat grinned, immediately knowing who this was. She glanced over at Mara, who was staring at her screen intently clicking through articles and images.

 _Jung: Yes_

 _Freud: The King should think the Queen is conspiring with the Jack. The King should want to get rid of the Queen._

 _Jung: The King already wants to get rid of the Queen. The King has already asked the Ace._

 _Freud: It would be ideal if the King would take things into his own hands._

There was a short pause. Cat held her breath, hoping that no one walked in.

 _Jung: Who is the Jack?_

 _Freud: An old friend of yours from New York. We spoke of him at home._

"That idiot?" She mused to herself, "Well, no wonder he managed to get into a computer."

 _Freud: Can you be at the bar "The Salts" at9 pm tonight?_

 _Jung: I can if you erase every chat in this dialogue except for that one and change the username to DO._

The text disappeared, leaving the request for meeting showing on the screen. Cat smirked at it.

"Hey, Mara?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I've got something."

Mara peered over at the screen, unaware of its significance.

"I don't think that's anything."

" _You_ might not. But _I_ happen to know things. Go get Misha."

Mara looked absolutely terrified.

"You want – I mean I couldn't."

"Oh my god woman, then go find someone who can."

Cat was left playing solitaire for about twenty minutes before Misha appeared in the doorway. He looked, in short, pissed off.

"What?" He demanded.

Cat gestured to the screen, which showed the message.

"Do you have any idea why someone with the initials DO would want to meet with your sister?"

Misha slammed the door.

"Where did you find this?"

"I have ways."

"Where. Did. You. Find. This."

"Ayy you're so needy," she groaned, "I hacked into your sister's phone and intercepted incoming messages if you must know."

Misha stared at the message.

"I can't think of anyone with those initials."

Cat leaned back in her chair, faking an air of deep thought.

"Well…" she began.

"Well, what?"

"No, there's no way."

"What?"

"Do you know someone by the name of Dorian Orval?"

Misha pursed his lips.

"Unfortunately I know _of_ him."

"Well… do you think it's possible that's who your sister is meeting up with?"

"She had been complaining about the prices of arms," Misha pinched the bridge of his nose, "Orval supplies cheap – and unreliable – weapons."

Cat let out a low whistle.

Without another word, Misha stormed out of the room.

* * *

"Tonight at 9 pm, we will solidify Misha's distrust for his sister," Richie smiled smugly at the screen, "and hopefully wrap up the whole affair if the Adams girl can push him to take action. Good idea you had with the time and place, Reid. Since Agata was going to be there anyway, if we can get Dorian here to be seen talking with her, it will drive Misha over the edge."

Reid nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. Agata's calendar had been easy to hack, and they could see that at 9 pm on Saturday nights was her favorite time to hang out at The Salts, a small bar downtown.

"Erm…" Dorian began, "What if… Misha… y' know… goes after me?"

Richie clapped his hand on his shoulder, "then the world will finally be rid of you."

Dorian didn't look at all comforted by this.

"Cheer up, old chap. You'll get your money after it's all over and done with."

The word "money" brought a smile back to his greasy face.

"Now go get all cleaned up for your date."

* * *

 _Nota Bene: I'm soooo sorry for the long wait. I had intended to begin writing a lot now that it's summer, but I broke my finger! It's getting better, so I can type now. Hopefully I'll be writing a lot more._


	28. Finally

**Trigger Warning: This chapter contains some mild violence which some might find disturbing.**

Chapter Twenty Eight: Finally

Reid had been growing more and more nervous by the hour. Planted across the street from the bar next to Richie, he could see anyone who came in or out. Time had been ticking by and it was nearly 9 o'clock. Still no sign. He tapped the car dashboard nervously.

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

Richie nodded assuredly in response, gesturing discreetly toward an approaching figure across the street. Agata had arrived.

She was obviously completely unaware how much rested on her shoulders tonight – or that she was probably not going to leave that bar alive. She smiled at the bartender as she entered and pulled out her phone. In a little booth in the corner, Dorian was sipping a whiskey, mournfully awaiting the signal.

Finally, at Agata's third drink, Misha and Cat pulled up near the bar in a black car. Reid took a small flashlight out of his pocket and bounced it off a compact mirror, creating two small flashes. Dorian saw them and, downing the rest of his whiskey like a man about to enter battle, he approached Agata at the bar.

"Is that him?" Misha squinted at the man.

"Definitely. I'd recognize that greasy little face anywhere."

Misha let out a groan, obviously very annoyed.

"What are you going to do about it?" Cat asked.

"Kill her."

"That's a little extreme," she shrugged, "why not, just, reprimand her?"

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" He grew more determined upon being disagreed with, which was exactly Cat's intention.

"Jeez, calm down there kiddo," she popped the glovebox open and handed him a small pistol, "have at it. Maybe you could find a co-owner of the company who would actually be helpful."

Misha side-glanced at her, comprehending her meaning.

"Is that an offer?"

Cat shrugged again.

"Is that an acceptance?"

He let a small grin fade onto his face in a break from his usually impenetrable countenance.

Cat didn't say anything but instead slid on a pair of black gloves from the same place she'd acquired the gun.

"Now's your chance, aim well," she nodded toward Agata, who was leaving the bar.

Misha cocked the gun and closed one eye, looking straight at his sister.

Like a shockwave, the noise from the bullet, the screams, and Agata's body collapsing all hit Cat's senses. As quick as thought, she slid her hand over Misha's and forced the gun upward, pulling the trigger aimed at his head.

The blood splashed on her clothes and face but she was unfazed. She exited the car and walked briskly across the street, noticing Reid in the passenger seat of a nearby car. She opened the back door quickly and slid inside.

"Didn't know you had friends in Russia, Reid."

"He didn't, but he made friends," Richie set the car in motion.

"Wait a minute…." Cat leaned forward to get a view of the driver's face, "I know that voice."

"Ah, I knew you'd blow my cover girlie."

"Dante Woods, last time I saw you, you were failing to catch me at Interpol."

Reid furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Gone rogue, aye?"

"A bit, yeah. Where should I drop you guys off then, the airport?"

"Considering I'm covered in blood and Spence looks like he needs a good nap, I'll go with shady little motel instead."

"Alrighty then, one shady little motel coming up."

All this time, Reid had not uttered a word. Instead, he was watching Cat carefully in the rearview mirror.

"Cat got your tongue?" She smirked, "Pun intended."

"I just can't believe we pulled that off. How did you manage Misha?"

"He was in shock, as one usually is after killing one's sibling in a rage, so I guided the gun toward his throat and," she mimicked a gun going off with her hand, "bam, no more Misha. No one would guess it wasn't a suicide."

"Did plan A ever really work out?"

"He wasn't the easily seduced type, besides, that became a null point after the "kill my sister" bit came into play. That was Dante, wasn't it? I thought that was a little out of character for you Spence."

The car came to a stop in front of a small motel.

"I'll book a room for two, then I'll go buy you some non-bloody clothes."

"Buy?"

"Oh, not with money I obtained honestly of course," Richie winked and exited the car.

Cat crawled up into the driver's seat so she was opposite Reid.

"Hey."

"Hey."

The awkward silence filled the air.

"Aren't you going to get all mad at me?" She rested her chin on her hand.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I messed everything up."

"Yes. You did. But you're not worth getting mad about."

"Why not?" She frowned, feeling his comment sting a little sharper than she wanted to admit, "I think I'm worth getting mad about."

"That's where you and I differ," Reid sighed, looking out the window to avoid eye contact.

Cat leaned back and crossed her arms, wanting to kick and scream like a child who wasn't getting the sweets they wanted.

"Did you ever care?"

"No," he turned to face her, "I almost did. I almost thought you changed. But then I remembered that's not how life works. You're not going to stop being the criminal I met in the restaurant, and I'm never going to trust you. After this is over, you're going right back where you were – and if you try to leave now to seek your own freedom, that will show me more than anything just how little you want to change."

Cat felt hot tears slide out of her eyes, ignoring her best attempts to shut them up. Her chest felt heavy like lead, weighing her down and poisoning her soul.

"Look what you did. You took a perfectly good psychopath and you broke her," she tried to take a sarcastic tone, but found it hard to force the words out of her mouth.

"You were never a psychopath, Cat Adams. An egomaniac genius with abandonment issues? Yes. But never a psychopath."

Richie appeared again, holding a key.

"It's a single room with two twins. I'll be back in an hour or so, then, if everything goes according to plan, you will never see my beautiful face again."

Cat pushed the door open and grabbed the keys, walking at a quicker pace than Reid in order to avoid talking to him.

They didn't say a word to each other in the room. He lay on his bed and she shut herself in the bathroom.

She stared in the mirror, now becoming acutely aware of the bloodstains on her skin. She stripped down and shoved the bloodstained clothes into a trash bag. Then she turned on the shower and began furiously scrubbing away the red spots with a bar of soap. She watched the crimson water trickle down her body and into the drain. It matched the angry voice inside her, screaming at the top of its lungs because of all the things Reid had said to her.

Cat slid against the wet shower walls into sitting position, hugging her knees and letting go of the foamy bar of soap. No one could see her like that, so now she could cry all she wanted.

But nothing came.

No tears exited her bloodshot eyes to mix with the motel shower water. Instead, she just felt mad. Frustrated. Thwarted.

She didn't know how long she had been sitting like that when there was a sharp rapping on the bathroom door.

"Richie's back," Reid called.

"I'll be out in a minute," Cat replied, hastily turning off the water which had begun to run cold.

She grabbed a towel and wrapped herself in it, then opened the door a crack.

"Hand me the clothes," she reached her hand out, expected to receive a bag. Instead, she felt cold metal and heard the click of handcuffs.

"What the…?"


	29. Handcuffs?

**_Trigger Warning: Some explicit language used in this chapter._**

Chapter Twenty Nine: Handcuffs?

"You could have waited until I was dressed," Cat mumbled.

"I bought something with a halter top for this express purpose," Richie commented from the doorframe, "you would have never voluntarily been handcuffed. You're still Reid's responsibility and since I've taken a liking to the kid I thought I'd lend him a hand in controlling you."

Cat eyed the aforementioned person to which she was now handcuffed.

"Alright boys, look away."

Richie rolled his eyes and turned the doorknob.

"I'm leaving anyway, so enjoy yourselves."

He slid out and left the two alone in awkward silence.

"Turn around," Cat hissed. Reid turned his head quickly as she grabbed the bag of clothes from his hand.

He felt the weight of the towel dropping on the floor beside him and his face became bright red. There was a minute or so of acrobatics and near-falls before Cat announced it was safe to turn around.

"He left enough money for plane tickets and I hope you thought to save the fake passports," she shoved the wad of cash into his hand harshly. She was still bitter about the things he had said.

"Yup, of course," he extracted the two leather booklets from his pocket and waved them in front of her face.

Cat stared impatiently at him.

"Do you really intend to keep me handcuffed all night?"

"Right, yeah, sorry," Reid murmured, feeling his pockets for the key, "oh, wait."

"What?"

"Richie never gave me a key."

"Are you kidding me?!" Cat exclaimed, trying to throw her hands up but accidentally dragging Reid's with her.

They rushed over to the door and looked out, but he was nowhere in sight.

"That was _so_ intentional. Do you have any bobby pins?"

"Why would I have bobby pins?"

"I don't know! You have a lot of hair!"

Cat dragged him to the bedside table and began rifling through it, desperately trying to find something to pick the lock with. After a few minutes of searching the entire room, she came up with nothing.

"That asshole!" She kicked the side of the bed and groaned aloud.

"What are we going to do?" Reid looked around. He had never found himself handcuffed to a woman in a motel room before, although he felt like Morgan had told him a very similar story once.

"You're sleeping on the ground, that's what. Get a pillow and get comfortable."

"Why do I have to sleep on the ground?"

"Because I'm the lady."

"That's sexist. You don't need a soft thing to sleep on any more than I do. However, since I'm _not_ a murderous criminal, I should get the bed."

"Don't make me get violent, because I will."

"We're handcuffed together," Reid scoffed, "that's not much room for fighting."

He spoke too soon. Before he could think Cat sent a blow to his stomach. He reacted quickly, blocking her attack and countering it by pushing her against the wall.

Their eyes met – full of anger, frustration, and fear. All built up over the course of what was probably the worst idea a government agency had ever constructed.

Then they kissed.

Reid knew that the part of the brain where fear came from was the same place where pleasure came from, or, where love came from. Sometimes, people cross the two. Maybe this was a case of that. Logically, he knew he wasn't _in love_ with Cat Adams. But he had felt some kind of weird connection to her from the moment they had met, and she obviously felt the same way. Maybe when you were as weird as they were, love was something different. It was something weird.

No. He knew that wasn't right.

"Stop," he pulled away.

Cat's chest heaved. For what felt like the first time in too long, she wanted to bawl. Not just let tears fall out, but full-on breakdown. Her head was spinning.

"Stop?!" She sobbed, pushing him as far away as the handcuffs would allow, "I'm so goddamn sick of you, Spencer Reid. You're so _morally superior_ yet you do stuff like this. I'm the murderous criminal remember? I'm _nothing to you._ "

Reid felt like a deer in the headlights. Those two different parts of his brain were at war again.

"You wanna know something sad?" Cat continued, "From the moment we met, you were _everything_ to me. I spent every minute thinking about you, and it took me so long to finally see you again and I really thought it was the last time. But then this little mission was arranged and now here we are. You've kissed me the same amount of times that you've told me I'm a worthless piece of gum on your shoe, so which is it? Huh?"

"I–I don't know," he mumbled, not wanting to look into her fiery eyes.

"Do you want me?" Cat asked, placing her hand under his chin and lifting it to look him in the eye, "Without all the context. Without all the bullshit. Do you want _me_?"

There's something incredibly raw about eye contact. It causes people to tell truths they would never have dreamed they'd say aloud. Reid felt that power. It was on the tip of his tongue.

"No. You are the context, Cat. I don't want that. You can't separate yourself from that. I want you – if the world had been different. If that core personality had never gone down the bad road. But I could never want you as you are."

"Don't fucking lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"Don't. Fucking. Lie. To. Me." She landed punches on his chest with every word, growing less and less powerful as her energy was drained. She finished by falling into his arms and sobbing into his shoulder. He stood there, feeling the tears well up in his eyes too.

It was depressing. The whole scenario.

Maybe someone with less of a conscience could have let things continue. But Reid could never forget what the real Cat Adams had done. No amount of personal connection changes actions. He had studied people like her all his life. He knew why she was the way she was, but it wasn't an excuse. It was just a reason.

Reid didn't know how long they had been standing like that before she drew away. Her face was red and blotchy, but she was beginning to calm down. He felt sorry for her. Some of what he had said was true, but a lot wasn't. He couldn't give her the satisfaction of letting her know she meant something to him. Reid had been working off his textbook knowledge of how to level the power play to his advantage. He had forgotten she was a person. He had a tendency to forget that sometimes. It's easier to think of the people involved in cases the same way one thinks of examples in a book. But you can't always use those little tricks to manipulate people. You can't always remain perfectly impartial and professional. It was his job, sometimes, to connect. To be honest. That was more powerful than any complex plan to make sure an unsub doesn't explode.

But Cat wasn't an unsub.

And as of this moment, she wasn't even a partner on a mission.

She was a human being with a broken heart. And maybe it wasn't his job to fix it, but he knew that he had caused it to some extent.

"I'm sorry," he sat down on one of the twin beds. Cat joined him reluctantly.

"I'm sorry too," she sighed.

"Why are our lives shit?"

"That's the first time I've ever heard you cuss," she smirked, "didn't know you knew how to."

"Morgan taught me," he admitted, "anyway, we should probably get some sleep. The bed is big enough for the two of us. We'll figure out how to get these damn handcuffs off before we go through airport security."

"I agree," Cat leaned back on the pillow, "don't cross onto my side."

* * *

 _ **Nota Bene: I'm so so so sorry this took so long. I had essays to write and then attended a summer camp where I didn't have my computer. Things are getting rather depressing and I actually didn't expect this book to take such a sad turn but here we are.**_


	30. Handcuffs, The Sequel

Chapter Thirty: Handcuffs, The Sequel

When Cat awoke, the room was quiet, she could feel the rise and fall of Reid's chest next to her. She didn't look over, instead, she stared at the ceiling. She knew by the tone of the light from the window that it was around 4 am.

Why was the air always so foreboding at 4 am? It was chilly, the covers seemed to do nothing against the draft coming from _somewhere._

She kept staring at the ceiling, not wanting to move and awaken the sleeping mass next to her. If he didn't wake up, then the day wouldn't have to continue and she could just stare at the ceiling forever.

Speaking of which, the sleeping mass let out a sleepy sigh and rolled on its side, extending one arm over the body next to it. Cat held her breath, not knowing what to do.

It was blissful, in a way, the peace that surrounded them at that moment. Cat shifted to the side as delicately as she could and faced him. Her eyes drank in his sleeping face. The habitual brow full of worry was gone in the paradise of undisturbed slumber and in its place was a carefree relaxation that she had never seen. Cat snuggled in close and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in his chest, drifting off once again.

When Reid awoke, the room was quiet. He was surprised to find Cat in his arms, sleeping peacefully. He didn't want to move for fear that he would disturb her. His handcuffed hand was starting to ache a little from the metal rubbing against it.

He could tell from the tone of the light from the window that it was around 7 am.

He never liked waking up at 7 am, but his job had put him in the habit of it. He was more of a lazy morning's kind of person – maybe read a book or two. Nothing too extreme.

There were no books to read here, though. Instead, it was just really cold.

Reid knew he couldn't stay in that room forever.

"Cat?"

"Hmm…"

"Cat?"

"Yeah?"

"We should go."

"Yeah."

Neither of them stirred from their position. Cat's grip tightened and unconsciously so did Reid's.

"We actually have to go, y'know."

"Yeah." She pushed against him and burrowed her head deeper against his chest.

"Cat –"

"Can you just shut up and let me have this before I fly home and go to jail?"

"Right. Yeah. Sorry."

The room was quiet. Reid had never hugged someone as long as he was hugging Cat right now. It felt nice. It felt comforting. Reid hadn't felt particularly comforted by anything in a long time.

When Cat finally stirred it was something like 7:30 am.

"Right," she detached herself and sat up, it seemed like the life had returned to her and that habitual flame was back in her eyes, "let's figure out how to get these handcuffs off and get the hell out of Russia."

* * *

The bell above the door of the convenience store let out a melodic jingle. The owner looked up from sweeping some spilled spices in isle 3 and saw the man and woman entering. He hastily finished his job and placed himself back at the checkout, straightening the shiny new name-badge which read "Vlad." He peered curiously at them. They were standing very close together and were whispering argumentatively. The woman appeared to drag the man to the hardware section and began browsing the items.

"Nothing here is going to help," he heard the woman mutter, "they don't even have something with flames."

"Um," the owner cleared his throat and spoke in Russian, "how can I help you two?"

The woman dragged the man along, who looked incredibly abashed.

"Yeah, probably," the woman replied, "you see, we're on our honeymoon and…"

She lifted the hand she had been dragging her husband with and revealed handcuffs.

"We accidentally flushed the key."

Vlad blinked.

"Ah."

"Anything that could help us with this problem?"

"Let me see the make of the handcuffs," he pulled his reading glasses up from around his neck and took the woman's outstretched hand, dragging her husband forward as he peered at the cuffs, "ah, these are standard kits sold all over the place. They're cheap and very unsafe because there's a standard master key."

He let go and left the register to peruse one of the isles. Soon he returned holding a red box.

"Buy this kit and you'll get a key."

"Thank you," the woman grinned, extending the cash necessary.

"Next time be a little more careful with that sort of thing," Vlad chuckled.

After they bought their handcuff kit and some candy bars, the couple left. The owner shook his head watching them leave.

"Young love," he muttered.


	31. Home, Bitter Home

Chapter Thirty-One: Home, Bitter Home

A lot can happen in 24 hours – a death, a birth, or a small scale ecological disaster within the confines of the metal walls of one of those "do it yourself" hydroponic grow systems sitting on the kitchen counter of a suburban house.

Conversely, absolutely nothing can happen in 24 hours – unless you count sitting through the tedious affair of purchasing a last-minute plane ticket on an 11-hour plane flight, then subsequently sitting through that plane flight.

That was the nothing that happened to Cat and Reid after they exited the convenience store and eventually found their way to an airport. There was no conversation save the necessities required to end up in the same places at the same time. They had essentially run out of things to say to each other. Both knew that no matter what when they landed something major was going to change. What does an FBI agent say to someone who just risked their life for the interests of a country that only wanted them locked away? What does a criminal say to an FBI agent who thinks they're beyond saving no matter what they promise? Nothing. They say nothing. So they said nothing.

The equilibrium of nothing-ness continued until the plane landed and they were standing outside the American airport. US soil. Reid had never really realized the distinct feeling in the ground and the scents in the air which made him feel at home in that country. Cat had never really stopped to think how much she appreciated the energy which being familiar with the ins and outs of her culture had given to her schemes – nefarious or other.

"Where to?"

Grammatically, a simple question. An inquiry of location, usually harmless and not entrenched in an ulterior meaning that directly translates to: "So, are you going to come with me and try to make things right, or are you going to run away and leave me and my career in hot water?"

Unfortunately for our two interlocutors, this was not the case.

A defeated sigh and a shrug were the precursors to the reply.

"Wherever you're going."

"I have to make a call first," Reid nodded in the direction of a phone booth.

"Alright." Cat replied apathetically.

Still feeling rather unsure whether this apparent submission was only a ruse to get his guard down, Reid kept her in his sights as he walked to the phone booth and started making his call. The coin made a clattering noise after he inserted it and the noise of the keypad seemed distant, as if in a dream.

"Hello?"

"Hey, J.J., it's Reid."

"Spence! Oh my God!" J.J.'s voice, trembling with emotion hard to describe, rang through the speaker on the phone like a bell – a sort of static-filled bell.

"I'm at Dulles airport, I'm calling to let you know that I'm okay. I can't talk about it on the phone but I will be back soon."

"Thank God," she spluttered, "I'm so glad you're okay, I've been so worried."

"How have you been? How's Henry?"

"He's great! Just got his report card back, all A's."

"That's my boy," Reid chuckled, still keeping an eye on Cat.

"When are you going to be back?" J.J. asked tentatively.

"I'm not sure, but it should be soon."

"Okay, hurry up, alright?"

"Alright, I will," he laughed dryly, imagining how long the process of explaining might take.

"Hey, Spence?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you, okay?" A quiet sniff indicated she was holding back tears, "Don't ever forget that."

"I love you too," he felt his own eyes beginning to well up.

"Bye, see you soon.

"Bye."

He hung up the phone, staring at Cat, who was sitting head-in-hands waiting for his call to be over. After a moment he let out a long sigh and began walking back to her.

"You ready?" He inquired, startling her from whatever quiet reverie she had been engaged in.

She looked up, finding it hard to focus her eyes. It had been a full 24 hours since she had gotten any sleep, food, or drink. The only noise she could force out of her dry throat was closer to a grunt than anything.

"Mhm."

It seemed like a hazy dream to Cat. She wasn't even sure what she was doing. Why had she agreed to go back with him? How would this help her at all? The answer was that it wouldn't, the only person it would help was Reid. Why on _earth_ would she do something that helped someone else instead of herself? How ridiculous. How _humane_.

How humane.

Cat Adams, doing something humane. Something self-sacrificing. What had she become? Some kind of decent person? Preposterous. Insulting. Demeaning.

While she was internally chastising herself, Reid had led her out and hailed a taxi. Without really realizing what she was doing, she climbed inside and leaned her head against the window. Normally, the bumping of her head against the glass would have annoyed her, but her body didn't seem to want to move. Then, through some distortion of time, she was out again in a matter of seconds. Where were they? She didn't know. The words Reid had spoken to the driver had remained floating in the air un-interpreted by her brain.

"Any last words?" Reid asked, half trying to bring back a smidge of good humor to the situation, and half wanting her to speak her mind.

A short silence followed. Then Cat spoke.

"You absolutely ruined me, Spencer Reid," she sighed, staring at the building in front of her that she now recognized to be the FBI headquarters. Her throat no longer felt dry, and the world seemed real once more. "You took a perfectly good psychopath and you gave her a conscience."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he bit his lip and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

"No need to apologize, I think I needed a good ruining," she glanced at him with a smirk on her face, "I suppose we both did."


	32. Find Me

Chapter Thirty-Two: Find Me

It was night time when they arrived. Reid rapped on the glass of the main entrance, since he no longer had his badge. The guard recognized him and stood in confusion.

"Go get Prentiss!" He yelled through the door. The guard still stood there, unsure of what to do. "Go!"

Still baffled, the guard scurried off and soon returned with Prentiss, who was practically running. She swung the doors open and swept him into a nearly suffocating hug.

"Oh my God Reid where have you been?" She sniffed and tried to hold back her tears.

"Finishing the mission of course," he smiled and pressed her hand.

It was at that moment Prentiss noticed the shrinking figure behind them. Cat was standing with her head bent low, cradling her torso with her arms as if she was holding herself together. The agent took a deep breath and approached her, sticking out her hand.

"Thank you," she almost forced the words out, but it was clear she meant it. Cat took her hand and shook it, not knowing how much the woman in front of her really knew about the situation – perhaps everything.

"Am I going back to prison?" She faltered out, her tired eyes met the teary ones of Prentiss.

"I don't know," Prentiss admitted, "from the last bit of audio we heard from you it seems like you should, but if Reid here can tell a different story perhaps we can work something out."

Although the words were promising, the tone in which they were spoken was full of doubt. Cat felt painfully that it was the wisest move on the US government's part to err on the side of caution and lock her away. She didn't blame them.

Prentiss was shocked to see Cat standing, so complacent and unrestrained. The only thing that held her there was some kind of moral obligation. Had Reid really awakened some long-dead conscience in this woman? Her eyes darted between the two of them. What had _really_ happened in Russia?

She would probably never know.

Reid would tell an edited version, probably. One that made Cat look like a changed woman and one that excluded anything those two got up to together that would seem like a conflict of interest.

"You need to go to a secure location to be debriefed, the both of you," Prentiss pulled out her car keys, "not here, I'll make a call and we can go now. I'm sorry you can't go home and sleep, you both look like you need it, but we can pick up some food on the way there."

It would be useless to describe in detail what followed. They piled into the car, ate cheap fast food, and drove to someplace where they were debriefed.

Although the two had rehearsed no story beforehand, they knew exactly what to include and what to leave out. Their stories matched each other's down to the very minutest detail – and made Cat look like a very committed, self-sacrificing woman.

At 1 am, Reid was cleared to leave the building. He met Prentiss outside but found Cat nowhere in sight.

He questioned his boss with his eyes, she shook her head and opened the passenger door.

"What do you mean?"

"They're keeping her, for now. There will be a very high-up deliberation about what to do with her, but I'm not optimistic. They think she acted rashly, abandoned protocol, and put you in an incredibly dangerous situation that you did your best to clean up. You're getting an award for going above and beyond the call of duty – she's going… well, frankly I don't know where. Somewhere I wouldn't want to be."

Something in his heart snapped like a violin string tightened too tight. He aimed a fierce kick at the gravel and let out a series of curse words louder and more violent than anything Prentiss had ever heard him say.

He felt feverish and upset – he could see where they were coming from, but couldn't they tell she was different now? Could they not see it was a completely different woman than had started this mission? What a bunch of _idiots_.

"Reid, you need some sleep, let's bring you home."

"I don't need to _sleep_!" He made a gesture to run back inside, "I need to tell those idiots what they're misunderstanding."

As quick as a flash, Prentiss stepped in front of him and placed a warning hand on his shoulder.

"Do you want to end up right where she is? With your influence ruined and your reputation disgraced? With absolutely no real way to help her? You're more useful to her out here."

Reid knew she was right. Of course she was, what was he thinking?

After the angry outburst, he felt the last bit of energy leave him. He slid into the passenger seat of Prentiss's car and soon fell into the sleep that only the incredibly weary can sleep – full of strange dreams and heavier than lead.

* * *

 _"You know, it's awfully mean of you to just leave me," pouted Cat comically, "you should've just rushed in and saved me like a knight in shining armor."_

 _"I tried, but Prentiss –"_

 _"You tried?!" Cat burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, "Oh my, why would you do that? You'd have gotten yourself into a lot of trouble darling, I'm not worth that. Thank God for Prentiss."_

 _"Of course you're worth that," he muttered._

 _"Am I? That's not what you told me…" Cat shrugged and took a sip of a cocktail that had appeared out of nowhere. They were sitting at a table, seemingly floating in an empty universe._

 _"I'm sorry," Reid wanted to reach out and touch her, but she seemed eons away from him, shrinking into the distance at every second, "I don't feel that way now – perhaps I didn't feel that away. Perhaps I was afraid of the idea of…"_

 _"Of what, Spencie?" Cat placed her hand on his, "Falling in love? Rightly so. It's a terrifying thing, love, especially when you've got such bad taste. I mean, really? Me? That's a downgrade from Maeve if I've ever seen one."_

 _"But you aren't." He grabbed both her hands, the cocktail had disappeared, and so had the table. They were standing now. "That's it. I've been thinking you were. You're perfect, you're so brilliant and lovely and deep down you just want to do what's right. Why did I think there was no saving you? How could I think that? You were trying so hard and I just ignored it. Will I ever see you again?"_

 _Cat smiled in that peculiar way she tended to smile. She brushed the side of his face with her perfectly manicured hand and looked into his eyes._

 _"That's up to you. I'm still alive, aren't I? Find me."_

Reid awoke to the sound of Prentiss's voice informing him he was home.

"Get some sleep," she commanded him, "we'll figure this all out eventually. For now, I'm just glad you're okay. If you really care about this Adams girl, we can work it out after you're back to normal. You have a job to do, Spencer."

He nodded and climbed out of the car. Oh, how he had missed his apartment.

As Prentiss's car retreated into the distance, he felt rather hopeful. What an odd dream he had had. Somehow, he felt that Cat had had the same dream, somewhere. Wherever she was. He hoped so. That last bit of communication would be something neither of them could have really said to each other's faces. Perhaps that mysterious force that controls our lives, somewhere outside the bounds of science, had paused its normal ridged rules of "making sense" and let these two lost souls speak to each other again – maybe for the last time.

He smiled, hoping the energy of that smile would reach her, wherever she was. Maybe it would give her hope. He'd find her, he swore.


	33. All That To Preface This

Chapter Thirty-Three: All That To Preface This

Cat started from an odd dream she had been having at the sound of a harsh voice.

"Come with me."

A black-suited woman was holding the door to the small room she had been confined in for the past 24 hours.

"Where?"

The woman didn't reply, her eyes were hidden by sunglasses, making her expression hard to read.

" _Who wears sunglasses inside?"_ Cat muttered to herself as she crawled off the hard bed and out the door.

The woman appeared unperturbed by her mutterings and led her into a brightly lit corridor, lined with similar doorways to the one she had just exited. Cat tried to peer into the windows of these rooms as she passed, but the hallow, gaunt faces that stared up at her made her soon lose her appetite for curiosity.

The two of them continued their journey in silence, but every minute Cat was racking her brain for some excuse to break it, but for the first time in a long time, she found no witty, disrespectful comments at the tip of her tongue. So they continued, in silence.

After what felt like a year and 14 days, they came to a door at the other end of the corridor. The woman pushed a badge against a scanner and it swung open with a squeak that startled Cat, not helping her already-on-edge nerves.

"I think I have a right to know where I'm going," she finally forced out, as they began traversing another seemingly endless hallway. The woman's face didn't change, Cat's voice seemed and unwelcome combination of wavelengths on ears of the apparently deserted halls.

"Rights are for citizens," the woman stopped at a door that seemed to have no marking indicating it was the correct one. Cat wondered if she had been counting the doors in order to find it.

"You are not a citizen," she continued, unlocking the door with a fingerprint scanner and badge, "as of today, you are a secret agent."

Cat scoffed, waiting for the woman to tell her she was just kidding, and to lead her into prison once again.

But she said nothing, and the door swung open, this time silently, to showcase a room with a table littered with files, at which were seated three other people.

"Oh, so you're _serious?"_

"Deadly serious," a man in his early 30's, peering up at her over his reading glasses commented. He placed the file he had been reading down and stood up and hung his glasses on his shirt collar.

The two other people, a young girl who could hardly be older than 17 and a man whose weather-worn face and expression made it hard to pinpoint his age, didn't input their opinions, but still looked at her with great interest.

"Welcome to project Osiris." The woman gestured to the room.

"Oh you're kidding," Cat stared in disbelief, "that hazard of a run was a _success_ for you guys?"

"You got the job done, and that's all they really care about," the young girl tapped the side of her head, "the ends justifies the means, y'know?"

"If I'd've known that was the way the damn government looked at things, I'd've joined their side 'stead of killing people while not getting paid for it." The man next to her flashed a rather sick grin that made Cat uncomfortable.

The strange woman closed the door and indicated for Cat to be seated. The back of her throat was dry as she placed herself next to the man with the glasses on. Her eyes darted over him and he returned her glance with a nearly imperceptible arch of the eyebrow and curve of the lips which seemed to Cat to mean, "I know, it's insane. But it's better than anything else that might have happened to us, so let's stick with it, huh?"

At that moment, Cat decided she liked him the most out of all her compatriots. His professor look and reserved nature reminded her of something – or rather someone – very comforting.

"Agent Adams, I would like you to meet Agent Carlyle," the man she had been musing upon gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, "Agent Scott," the older man growled some incomprehensible greeting, "and Agent Wires," the girl gave a mock salute with her pointer and index finger.

Cat leaned back in the chair and hoisted her feet onto the table, examining the faces around her at length. It was like the jungle, while she sized them up, they sized her up. She wondered what assumptions they were making about her and how wrong they were.

The girl, Wires, brought back memories of Cat's own teen years. Her piercing eyes would have perhaps been the welcome companion of a good joke if someone hadn't ruined the humanity with which she had been naturally endowed. She could've blended in at a high-school if it weren't for the subtle inconsistencies in her countenance. Eyes – too wide, as if drinking in every minute detail of the scene around her; it made one uncomfortable to be watched so intently. Mouth – too crooked, no smile remains that long on a face without becoming something ironic and pedantic. Nose – too wrinkled, the only kind of disgust that crowns a face like that is disgust at oneself, not at others.

The gruff man, Scott, had the most genuinely murderous expression of the lot. His sunken eyes were bloodshot and the skin lining them was wrinkled and cracked. Hands with scars and mismatched rings on the fingers traced his scraggly beard, hardly an inch long. If she had seen him on the street, Cat would've assumed he was homeless if it weren't for the gold teeth and expensive jewelry. As she stared at the odd assortment of gold, silver, and metal bands, she came to the sick realization that they were engagement rings. Trophies. His lips spread into a grin as he saw from the movement of her eyes what she was gathering. She wasn't frightened, in fact, the only expression visible on her face was lofty indifference with a hint of sanguine irony.

Carlyle welcomed her inquisitive glance with an equally questioning one. He tilted his head to the right. She knew what he meant. The silent conversation ensued, all taking place within the span of a few seconds.

Tilt of head. _What did they make you do to get here?_

Smirk. _Well, that's a long story. Similar to your story I assume._

Scratch of cheek and glance to the ceiling. _Only God knows my real story._

Mirrored tilt of head. _Interesting._

"Are we done yet?" The woman inquired, taking off her sunglasses. Cat was surprised to find friendly blue eyes hidden underneath them. Perhaps that was why she wore them.

Carlyle held up a finger to silence her, still maintaining eye contact with Cat.

A spark in the back of his eyes. _Who knows your story?_

Look to the door. _They're not here._

Smile. _You mean, he's not here._

"Alright, now you're done."

"Why do you gotta kill the fun, Rae?" Scott had been leaning on his hand, watching the wordless interaction with great interest, "just cuz you can't understand what's being said doesn't mean you get to tell everyone to shut up."

"Who was it with?" Wires ignored Rae and leaned in, her face glowing with interest, "I had to do it all on my own."

"You're not allowed to discuss these things," Rae warned but was completely disregarded.

"The Agent who got me in the first place," Cat sighed.

"Adams!"

"Ah, fine," Cat drew her feet from off the table and seated herself more normally, "story for another time when our chaperone isn't here."

Wires looked disappointed while Scott's same sick smile stayed the same.

"So, why are we all here?"


End file.
